Timeless Comrades

[ARC-15]

[member="Jansal Corego"]
Viper arrived through a shuttle in their spacedock just off the Parlemian trade route. It was in neutral space, and particularly a rest stop before pilots would venture either toward the rim worlds or the deep Outer Rim. Viper didn't know why he came here. There was no real reason. He just needed to get away, and clear his head. He needed to think about what happened to him.

Eight hundred years had passed. He could hardly believe it, and he certainly didn't take it at face value. Yet as he thought on it more, it strangely started to make more sense. Maybe he was losing his mind?

When he awoke from the Separatist outpost, he only measured his stay in weeks or months. Years never really occurred to him. But when he reached the greater galaxy, he wasn't able to get in contact with GAR. Likewise, when he landed on worlds, the natives didn't seem to know what he was talking about. A huge time gap certainly explained it.

The galaxy had changed, that was for sure, and certainly not for the better. During the Clone Wars, the galaxy was being torn apart, but it was still clinging to life. This galaxy he ventured to seemed dead already. Lush and green worlds, and even cityscapes seem lifeless and empty, yet there was no sign of destruction. What happened? Did the Republic collapse?

This cantina reflected the state of the galaxy, somewhat. It was dirty and joyless. Viper didn't seem to attract much attention.

People had other things to worry about it seemed. Most just shrugged him off as a strange stormtrooper or a Mandalorian. Even to an educated sort, he was simply a costumed fool.

"What can I get ya, stormie?" the bartender asked as Viper pulled off his helm and took a seat at the counter.

Stormie? Viper thought, raising a brow.

"Kamino Special," the clone responded out of habit; the Kamino special was a drink offered to clone troopers all across the galaxy throughout the clone wars.

"The what special? Look, bud, we got backwash and dung water. Take your pick."

Viper wanted to give this bartender a lesson in attitude adjustment. He wasn't in the best mood, but he also didn't really have any fight in him today. So he just sighed, and waved his hand.

"Fine, water then."

As the bartender left, Viper slowly stroked the scruff on his face. He certainly didn't care much for it, but he didn't feel motivated to shave it anymore. In a way, it'd just remind him of his circumstance.

 

[Jakkor Kess]

Jakkor arrived in the bar not too long ago. He was traveling the Outer rim since he awoke from stasis and he was trying to find ways to get payback against the sith for what his life has been.He is or was an ancient relic of the past he was a commander of the 350th Attack Battalion in the Clone Wars. Fighting in the Outer rim Sieges one the worlds of Ossus,Xagobah,and Toydaria. Now here he was alone and full of hate for the sith that turned his life upside down and locked him up for 800 years. He sit's in a chair at the bar when something caught his eye. He couldn't believe it he recognized the face of one man in particullar [member="ARC-15"] upon seeing his face memories rushed back to the men he considered as brothers. The men who betrayed him centuries ago and killed his master. He got up and sat next to him offering him a shot of Corellian Whiskey. As he did so he spoke cryptically. "It's been a long time since the war. Eh soldier boy." Many thoughts were rushing through the tuskens head. 'I thought all the clones were dead and how come he is still alive I wonder will he attack me when I tell him who I am or something else.'

[member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Maybe he'd been there a couple hours, maybe less than that; time was maleable in this state, volatile mixtures of liquidated notice which swirled about him with an ethereal quality. With a penchant for observation, Jansal had found himself there, in that very same dirge of a bar, situated alone in the far-most corner of the establishment. He could feel his heartbeat slow as his eyes narrowed, that intense feeling he got whenever it happened, as his concentration built upon his fixation - the feeling of falling his body got, the distinct, biological response to what his body expected to be death. Perhaps it was not far off, he was like a hawk, picking out his prey at a distance, cloaked in shadow; he didn't wear his armor today, but he had that particular stare, one of intense nature, furrowed brow and dead, cold eyes, that revealed a lifetime of bloodthirst. Maybe if he dressed in black, they'd think he was Sith; otherwise, there would be no mistaking a child of Mando'a.

Just like there would be no mistaking that blood in the stranger, who situated himself at the counter.

However, even then, he made no approach; he had sworn himself away from his brethren - but it was that fact that held his attention: this fellow held the poise of a Mandalorian, but little else betrayed such heritage. Certainly not his armor, though it held similar form - it was distant, archaic; it was of an entirely unfamiliar make. Green, not unfamiliar to the children of Mando'a; but, plastoid? Odd. Maybe he had a thing for rustic tech, like those guys who go around piloting modded X-Wings like we were living back in the Civil War. Now there was a thought - was he a Stormtrooper? Odd to see one so alone, far out here; he seemed a little scruffy, too. That's when the gears began clicking: perhaps he was a deserter. Were there bounties for those? If there were, they'd definitely worth something - not so much for the info they carried, but to send a militaristic message. That desertion wouldn't be tolerated.

Jansal took out a small holopad - he has XOM update it regularly for him from the HoloNet, keeping a list of active bounties, including the more vague and general ones set forth from larger factions; if there was one for stormtroopers, he'd simply have to capture him and discern his origins. Yes, simple.

"Kamino special."

The bounty hunter glanced up, though not with a physical response; more so, it was the flick upward of the eyes, and the full attention, largely through hearing, drifting up, back to the stranger. Kamino? Who controls Kamino? Is he a clone? Jansal continued flicking through screen after screen of potential targets, none of which did the individual fit. Considering the brief reflection of familiarity in him, perhaps he was forgiven; better yet, if he was exiled from the clans, or at least no longer directly tied to, such as himself, perhaps he would make for decent conversation. Jansal stood up, a heavy mane draped over his brow, shaken aside by the flick of the head, a massive tail of hair tied back by a band of blue baquor trailed down to the small of his back. He shifted his shoulders, a pistol open displayed at his side; with that, he approached, situating himself beside his suspected brother, and then . . . he listened, intently.

[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Jakkor Kess"]

 

[ARC-15]

He came here to be alone, and now he was surrounded. It was so funny how things worked like that. One was a roughneck and the other a Tusken Raider. He'd heard of them. The natives of Tatooine called them sand people, but spoke of them as savages. This one certainly didn't follow the stereotype, though.

"It's been a long time since the war, eh soldier boy?"

Viper had to pick his ears and blink his eyes for this. He was almost certain he'd lost his mind, but here this sand person was plain as day, not only addressing him but also addressing him about the war. Maybe he meant a different war, though? Eight hundred years was a long time. There must've been some war. He couldn't possibly be referring to the Clone Wars.

"Not sure what you mean, stranger," Viper replied.

[member="Jansal Corego"]
[member="Jakkor Kess"]

 

[Jakkor Kess]

He drank his glass as he spoke. He assumed the clone trooper was friendly for now at least,but he did not want to make the mistake the jedi had made during order 66 when they had let their guard down. He sighed as he spoke in a calm almost friendly tone.

"I am or was Commander Kess of the 350th Attack Battalion I was a Jedi Padawan of the Old Republic. I fought during the Outer Rim Sieges all the way up til the men I fought side by side with,the men I considered friends brothers turned on me. My master sacrificed himself that I may lived. I wonder how come their are still clones around shouldn't you be dead."

He signaled the bartender for another refill as he gulped the last of his whiskey.

[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

[member="Jakkor Kess"]
[member="ARC-15"]

Well, what a turn of events, if you could call it that. Here he sat with his hands crossed - yes, he ordered some of that 'dung water' while he was at it; but, overall, his directive was to make conversation with his brother. It always starts with the simplest things; conflict, that is. He bit his lower lip and smiled, pulling himself back, wringing his neck with a sharp twist, emitting a sullen crack before he pulled away from his seat, hands on the hilt of his blaster. Winking at the Tusken Raider, he worked around the counter and found himself the door, held open by a rain-rotten wedge of wood, which he kicked away, allowing the door to fall shut. He wouldn't pretend to understand what they were talking about. The Old Republic? Now that was some ancient history and whatever they spouted on about, well, it sounds like someone here was about to fire up something fierce.

Maybe that would help him understand whether or not the stranger truly was Mandalorian.

 

[ARC-15]

Is everybody time-traveling? mused Viper.

He wondered whether he was losing his mind, or if this guy was just a conman. There was no reason not to believe him, though. There isn't a whole lot to gain from tricking an old clone trooper, and he doubted this fellow made up all this on the fly. Still, the coincidence was fishy. He'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

One thing the padawan said really caught Viper's attention; the mention of his "men" betraying him. He assumed by this, he meant clone troopers. Why would clones betray the Republic, though? That was his question. He'd heard of some clones betraying the Republic during the war, though it was just so uncommon. The mention of the Outer Rim Sieges clued Viper into thinking that maybe it happened after he'd disappeared. It made sense; the Seps were on their last leg. Maybe it was a part of some desperate strategy.

"Name's ARC-15. Viper. 41st Elite Corps. And er...to answer your question I was captured at Mygeeto. Guess the Seps put me in some sorta suspended animation. How are you still kicking it?"

[member="Jansal Corego"]
[member="Jakkor Kess"]

 

[Jakkor Kess]

Jakkor looked over. He saw a shady looking man winking at him. He looked closer and his hand was itching for his blaster. He had a bad feeling something was going to happen as he looked at the clone who now called himself Viper. The bartendor came back with his refill laying it out for the tusken and going back to his business tending the customers. He layed his hand beneath his cloak where it was covering his lightsaber. He rested his hand on the hilt as he replies.

"Well I was on the run for over a year after the war ended. Order 66 went down and the jedi were declared traitors to the Republic that turned into the First Galactic Empire. I traveled to the unknown regions where I discovered Emperor Palpatine had a storehouse full of jedi and sith artifacts. I was locked in stasis after a duel with an Inquisitor and slept for 800 years. What did the clankers want with you and what are you doing now Viper?"

[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

[member="Jakkor Kess"]
[member="ARC-15"]

They spoke continuously about the obscurity of political strife, foreign to Jansal (well, in reality, beyond his historical knowledge of the known Galaxy - but he didn't know that), referring to a variety of distantly known figures and incidents that were, quickly, lost upon him. Force knows how many Galactic Empires there had been in the past eight centuries. The Tusken Raider shifted, earning a rigid posture from Jansal. Was he getting ready? The bounty hunter shifted himself around the outer edge of the room, not bothering to hide his suspicious gaze; even the bartender seemed to notice, whose rigid gaze began to nervously size up the stalking human who rested on the far side of the restaurant, along with any other patron, particularly those who might have suspected he was there for them.

These two, the Tusken Raider and his brother - no, was he even his brother? He was starting to become frustrated by the slow, methodical back-and-forth nature of their conversation, as if it could have been anything different. He took a deep breath: this was going to make the difference. He opened up his datapad again, searching through his records for the individuals; without affiliation, or at least a clue to their previous locations, he came up empty-handed. And, for the love of all that was holy, did he know that searching for wanted sand people on Tatooine would get him nowhere. Not that he could differentiate them to begin with. Was that racist? He opted not, since it was the clothing; then again, for most alien species, wasn't it the clothing that helped him discern who was who? Maybe that was simply biological, like how you see faces in the clouds; you're wired to recognize similar facial structures - we were evolved for social contact.

Trailing off, he opted to remain on the defensive, analyzing the two, waiting for any hints of conflict to spark. Until then, he would continue to discern whether or not he was, indeed, a bigot.

 

[ARC-15]

Viper wasn't big on the politics of the Republic, but he'd heard Palpatine had amassing more powers to help direct the war effort. Still, he seemed like a honest man. It felt uncharacteristic of him to do something like this. Then again, that's what politicians do, isn't it? They lull you. If Palpatine declared the Jedi traitor, Viper could only assume the Jedi tried to do something about the takeover, but failed.

"What did the clankers want with you, Viper? And what are you doing now?"

"Honestly, I have no clue, to either of your questions. Just trying to figure things out, I suppose. Can't believe so much time has passed. The galaxy's so different."

Finally, the bartender arrived with his "dung water", as he called it. Only the water literally had dung in it, as in a floating log of fecal matter drooping over the side of the glass.

Did this jackass just put dung in my water? Viper asked as his anger rose.

"Motherkriffer," he mumbled, and looked up at the bartender, who was grinning mischeviously, "Hey! Is this supposed to be some kinda joke?"

"Oh, you like it?" the bartender asked, "I call it the Kamino special."

Exhaling out of his nose, it was easy to tell Viper was boiling for a fight. He rose to his feet.

"Excuse me, Master Jedi," he said, directing his attention to the man. The man quickly backed away as Viper hopped over the counter and charged him. With his forearm against the man's throat and his other hand holding the man's arm, the clone had the man pinned up against the wall in moments. The bar grew quiet as attention focused on them.

"Alright, funny man, what's your problem?"

"You stormies ain't welcome here, bub!" the man spit, fury in his eyes.

The bartender's face lit with satisfaction as two rusty security droid trained his sights on him. Viper glanced at them out of the corner of his eyes. He was mad, true, but he certainly wasn't mad enough to be stupid. Taking a deep inhale, he came to his senses and dropped the bartender, then turned his gaze toward the Tusken.

"Come on," Viper said, gesturing toward the door.

He hopped back over the counter, and grabbed his helmet, making his way toward the door (where, for the first time, he noticed the roughneck was). As things seemed to get back to normal, however, the bartender grabbed a holdout pistol from behind his counter and cried out, "You son of a queen!" In drunken fury, he fired two bolts at the man who humiliated him. Luckily, the fury-filled cry gave him forewarning, which allows him to duck and dodge the incoming bolts. He quickly reacted by drawing his own DC-17s and blasting the man's chest and head with deadly accuracy.

That was all it took for the bar to erupt in a flurry of blaster bolts.

[member="Jansal Corego"]
[member="Jakkor Kess"]

 

[Jakkor Kess]

Jakkor facepalmed himself as a full blown bar fight took place. People were hitting each other with anything they could,Chairs,Bottles,Fists,or each other. Blaster bolts were flying everywhere.

He brought out his Lightsaber and activated the green blade.
When that happened all hell broke loose. One of them a drunken spacer said in a slur of words. "Hey Iz a Jedi we don't like yerz kindzz arouns here let's get him!"

The Patroens all stopped fighting for a moment and looked at the Tusken wielding the laser sword. He slowly walked towards the door when he said "Aw Crap." They rushed him as he blocked blaster bolts left and right he extended his right arm out and in a second several of them went flying into the bar with a force push.

He rushed to the entrance pressing a few buttons on the control console and the door slammed shut. "That was a close one." He breathed a sigh of relief as he followed Viper.
Deactivating his saber and hooking it to his belt.

[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Actakos]

After failing to catch the Dark Jedi pest on Toydaria, Actakos had set off flying around the outer rim. He had stopped at a refuel station when his comm buzzed to life. "Hey Actakos, there is a Jedi out here. You might want to come get him. Him and his friend just started a bar fight."

"Where Kax?" Actakos was excited at the prospect of another hunt. He just hoped this one wouldn't get away.

"I am sending you my coordinates. He is a Tusken Raider by the looks of it."

"Ah. A beast that needs to be tamed. I am on my way." The prospect of hunting a Tusken Jedi was exciting. Their barbaric ways are well known throughout the galaxy. This would be interesting.

[member="Jakkor Kess"] @ARC-15 @Jansal Corego

 

[Jansal Corego]

[member="Jakkor Kess"]
[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Actakos"]

And through this, before he could intervene, Jansal was locked in a room filled with a flurry of flying everything, ranging from energy bolts to chairs; screams erupted into roars as the inhabitants collided against one another, fists swung, weapons drawn, and Jansal stood there, a bit taken aback, or, perhaps better said, flabbergasted. His head slowly swiveled to face the door, eyes piercing and beady; hair drawn over his face - he hadn't even drawn his blaster yet, but he sure as hell did now. There wouldn't be any opening it. Within seconds he was a target, the first fellow charging into him earning a solid strike in the face - one that bruised Jansal's own knuckles and forced a cry of pain from his lips; nothing quite as bad as the attacker though, whose nose bridge fractured from the blow, and bent back into his skull, colliding with his brain tissue and succumbing to internal bleeding which poured out through his facial orifices.

Flexing his fingers, Jansal picked a target: a rodian, about five feet tall, swinging a shattered bar stool wildly. Bang. Dropped, a smoking hole in his back. Bang. A chiss, dead. Bang. Jansal was stepping forward now, to the back entrance. Bang. A twi'lek hit the ground, shot through the cheek. Why did this always happen to him. Bang. Another, people were starting to see him as the bigger threat. He was walking, simple as that. Eyes began to dart towards him. Bang. That was that, unless someone made the jump, they wouldn't look sideways at him now. By the time he had crossed the bar, over the "bub"-calling bartender's smoking cadaver, his threatening disposition had long since been forgotten; shots fired, he ducked beneath the counter as glass shattered, the bolts striking drinks and sparking them aflame. He hopped up. Bang. Bang. Two down, he stepped out the door, smoking rising from his barrel.

Fire spit within the restaurants, the screams of rage turned into those of fear and pain; with the front door locked, they would be swarming here in minutes, as the sole avenue of escape. He shot the panel, prompting an immediate manual security lockdown, ceiling a thick, durasteel blast door over the entrance; they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. That's what they got for shooting at him. He huffed and spun around on his heel, unphased, not even thinking about the group roast currently occurring in the big, steel oven right next to him, even with the sweltering heat wafting forth and the roaring cries of pain emitting from the sealed bar; no, he was thinking about his little cloaked friend, that lightsaber-toting Jedi who had, so willingly, invited himself to interfere with his reunion. He checked his blaster - low on energy, enough for a few shots and little more; he could work with that. And with that decided, he strolled around the side of the building, to find the two there: the supposed child of Mando'a and aforementioned Tusken Raider jedi.

They didn't seem to be expecting company. Taking advantage of this opportunity, and the weaving webs of chaos bleeding through the Force to potentially blind them, he struck from behind, walking into the fray. Blaster raised, he made an effort to call out to them, both of them, at a doable distance; multiple instances of potential cover, scattered barrels, empty, laid strewn about, among a variety of other discarded crates. Who knew if any form of security would arrive either - with the evident discrimination, it seemed unlikely they would turn on him rather than the pair who initiated the conflict to begin with; all in all, it seemed in his favor. Besides, he was confident he could kill one of them before they could turn the tables, cleaning leveling the playing field - an act which, again, would be very much in his favor.

"Gar t'ad!" he spat, his voice deep, reverberating with a bassline cord which rumbled in his throat. "Gev." 'You two! Stop," he had said in Mando'a, hoping to incite the strange fellow's attention. And, well, if the jedi noted this as well, maybe he might be inclined not to kill him for locking him away in the madhouse.

 

[ARC-15]

Things were getting crazy fast. Between that drug-addled bartender and the drunken patrons, this whole places was quickly going to hell in a hand basket. Viper surely didn't want to be around when that happened. Problem was that he didn't know he was leading them. He didn't have a ship and he didn't think they were going to let any shuttles out after this mess. He sure hoped that this Jedi had a ship.

Before he could ask, though, he heard something behind him. He recognized the language. The man calling out to them was telling them to stop. Viper stopped and turned, with both his DC-17 pistols aimed for their pursuer. Through the visor of his helm, he could see it was the roughneck who sat next to him at the bar. What did he want?

"Drop the blasters and put your hands where I can see them!" Viper ordered. This hallway was elongated, so if they kept running the roughneck have a clear shot on them. Viper wasn't planning on take any chances.

[member="Jansal Corego"]
[member="Jakkor Kess"]
[member="Actakos"]

 

[Jakkor Kess]

Jakkor turned around. He heard a unknown language he had not heard before. He saw the same trigger happy man that he had seen earlier. This had not been a good day for him so far and by the force he knew it was going to get worst.

He activated his Lightsaber and held it in a defensive posture the hilt above his shoulders. He looked at the man through his red lenses and asks in a inquisitive yet cautious tone. "Who are you? What do you want?"

He wasn't liking this one bit he sensed a dark presence fast approaching they needed to get to the hanger to his new ship.
VCX-100 light freightor The Outlander or else they were going to be in huge trouble.

[member="Jansal Corego"]
[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Actakos"]

 

[Actakos]

The Sith Infiltrator came out of hyperspace. Actakos piloted the ship down and straight into the docking bay. As he walked out of his ship, he turned to his black protocol droid. "Stay with the ship. This shouldn't take too long."

"Yes sir." It turned and walked back up the ramp and inside.

Actakos walked out of the hangar and headed straight toward the bar. The Jedi couldn't have gotten to far from there, and was hopefully still here. Actakos stomped off down the road and looked back and forth. A Tusken should stick out, especially considering he was a Jedi.

[member="Jakkor Kess"]

@ARC-15

[member="Jansal Corego"]

 

[Jansal Corego]

Jansal held his blaster steady, supporting it solely with his right hand; his other drew away - a physical bluff, acting as if it moved to draw an additional weapon, should a fight properly break out between him and ARC trooper. "Gar cuyir nayc adiik be mando'a," he mumbled, largely inaudible, before clearing his throat. "Put down your blasters, I just want to talk." He tilted his head, his eyes rolled; well, he had wanted to talk. Wanted, before being shut off into a bar fight to fend for himself; now, he was just being spiteful. Still, if they obliged, he doubted he would give into it; the individual picked away at his cords of curiosity - he clearly didn't understand mando'a. It would have been obvious if he did. But why was it, for all of his instincts, every once of his DNA screamed, every subconscious train of thought roared, all unto him that this man, who stood before him, shared this heritage.

Then the jedi interfered, lightsabers and all; it was, in this very moment, Jansal had wished for a second blaster - or a slugthrower. He now stood at a disadvantage and that, in of itself, irked him deeply. Then again, properly aimed, he could probably take down the trooper before they had a chance to finish him off; he was confident like that - he had his whipcord thrower on his belt, looped around in place of the normal pouch; but putting it on would take too much time. That was a last-ditch effort. Negotiation was the way out of this one, but it had to be slow, and he had to talk out of his ass a lot. "My name is Jansal Corega of Mandalore," he said. Hopefully that might get a reaction out of him, if mando'a didn't. If that didn't, and this turned out to be a waste of time, then he damn might as well just kill him; to sate his frustration if nothing else. Or he might just go back into the bar and scavenge a drink, before it burned down.

[member="Actakos"]
[member="Jakkor Kess"]
[member="ARC-15"]

 

[Jakkor Kess]

Jakkor kept his defensive posture. He heard of Mandalorians during the Clone Wars. He heard how they were feirce warriors and how at some cases enemies of the jedi. Upon hearing he was such a warrior. Jakkor could give a flying kriff for all he knew. He was unimpressed for he did not fear the man,but what he did fear was the sith.

He lowered his saber slightly. "So is that supposed to scare me. If you just want to talk that's fine,but don't try anything funny or I will cut you down mandalorian.

He remained cautious he did not like the looks of him at all and still remained very cautious.

[member="Jansal Corego"]
[member="ARC-15"]
[member="Actakos"]

 

[Actakos]

Actakos wasn't far from the cantina. But as he passed a hangar, he could hear a commotion at the entrance. He heard someone speaking in Mandalorian, and then a scruffy voice. Intrigued, he stepped inside. When he entered, he saw a Mandalorian, a Tusken, and some other man. The Mandalorian and the man were of no concern. He saw the green blade in the Tusken's hand and that was his target. He started stomping straight toward the trio, his arm transforming into a cannon as he approached. He reached to his back and grabbed his doublebladed lightsaber. He ignited one side, and pointed it to the ground. "Jedi! I have been looking for you!"

[member="Jakkor Kess"]

[member="Jansal Corego"]

[member="ARC-15"]

 

[ARC-15]

Viper certainly wasn't willing to lower his blasters, but he sensed that this fellow was seemingly trying to reach out to him. He introduced himself as a man of Mandalore. This struck something within Viper. He knew the Mandalorians. He was raised by one, and fought alongside them during the war. Though he was willing to talk, his instincts wouldn't let him lower his guard.

"Burc'ya?" Viper asked in Mando'a. 'Friend?' He did know some words of the language, even despite his lack of fluency. He had his mentor to thank for that.

Before he could get an answer, however, a new face showed up. Viper heard the voice of the masked man behind him, and aimed one of his blasters in that direction while keeping one trained on Corego. The intruder ignited a red weapon not unlike Kess's, though he seemed hardly friendly.

"Please tell me that's a friend of yours, Commander."