Torment of Ithor

[9-LOM]

The graceful eye of Ottega shines, like a deity it reigns in hope and potential over a congregation of victim worlds whose sole commandment has been to endure. One such world, reborn from the ashes of conquest and affliction, comes into view. It is Ithor, home to a race of galactic caretakers known as the Ithorians.

9-LOM sits in the cockpit of their Dianoga-class fighter, which looms over the shoulder of Ithor. The low hum of electronics, and the dark of real space removes all from the protocol droid's mind – all except the blue glow of a holo-projector from the console.

“Deceiving,” Nine remarks, in their low, gurgling Gand voice.

Not one, but four worlds display in front of them. All completely different from the other, with one exception: they are all called Ithor. One of them Nine is somewhat familiar – a jungle world guarded by the large, floating cities of the Ithorians. Another, an afflicted host of the swarm wars, culled by the endless spread of Killik domain. A charred wasteland conquered by the wrath of the Yuuzhan Vong. And finally, the last is... perhaps it is best to call it a survivor of all three. Within Nine's buzzing cranial circuits, a swarm of theories and facts about the four worlds collect, attempting to reach a consensus.

The blue hologram flicks, and the portrait of an Ithorian appears, their identification and description reading beside them.


Ungora the Communer
Species: Ithorian
Age: 62
Occupation: N/A
Citizenship: N/A
Description: Wanted for tax evasion, ecological security breaches.

This is the individual that would unravel the world 9-LOM was attempting to understand, and hopefully direct them to their objective; that is, a personal task taken for initiation into the Black Bha'lir. An organization within the CIS specializing in smuggling and mercenary work of the highest caliber demands high caliber tribute.

The hologram flicks again, and this time, a vile and twisted creature shows – a creature of the old Ithor, that even then would have been difficult to track down. Now, it was not only Nine's mission to find and kill this creature – but to prove it even still exists. The Ithorian Dragon.

Nine engaged their signal scrambler, and notified the two craft accompanying them to do the same. Then, without further delay, the old fighter lurched – then fired down through the Ithor atmosphere.

The canopy of tropical trees rippled violently as 9-LOM's fighter slowed overhead, descending carefully toward what was formerly known as “Mother Jungle”. The low scream of the craft filled the clearing it had chosen for landing, just large enough for Nine and their company to occupy. The droid quickly powered down the ship. A one-man elevator ejected from beneath the craft, deploying Nine to the planet's green surface.

The droid had equipped their Endorian Yayax green-camo shell, as it would be the closest match to the native flora. It had been a long time since they'd worn it, and provided the droid a sense of long lost honor to a faction that no longer existed.

As they stepped off and out from under the belly of the craft, Nine looked around. The large, green-eyed Gand head turning around a stone-still droid body. Nearby, through the foliage, were the coordinates leading to the Ithorian's residence. Nine assumed the residence was made of natural materials, perhaps makeshift and earthen – as there were no apparent readings while scanning the area before landing. They kept the coordinates marked.

The droid's heavy, synthlatex cape wavered; behind them – the rush of air and scream of landing ships.

 

[Mallick Rel]

Thing about the planet Ithor was, even its own people hadn't touched it in some thousands of years. Even before the Vong had their way with it, and the Gulag Plague had molested the ravaged surface further, the indigenous species had enjoyed an extreme level of distance from foreign Invaders. That meant the hostility toward them would be even higher once they landed. And Rel absolutely hated hostility.

One holdout blaster hidden in a magnetic holster at his thigh, two regular Saturday Night Specials at either hip, and for this particular outing, a heavy Slugthrower slung across his back. Extra insurance. The Bha'lir paid their folk to get work done, not to wind up dead. To that end, they made sure they were kitted properly, and they had all the Intel they needed to survive.

Mallick flipped his datapad out of his brown coat pocket and keyed in a few commands, which promptly sent a series of files to [member="9-LOM"] for the Droid to review at their leisure. Even easier, since it didn't require much extra work for someone of that persuasion to do several things at once, including read over a nearly thousand page long briefing on Ithorian fauna and flora.

Of course Rel hadn't read it. He wasn't a Droid.

When the landing cycle finished and he glanced down from the top of the ramp down toward virgin soil, he yawned. "Okay, we made it," the smuggler announced. "Now, what're we doing on this stanghole of a backworld, again?"

He stuck a finger in his ear and rotated it from side to side a few times. "I ain't exactly a boy scout, so you're gonna have to take the lead on this one, roboboy."

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

Ithor. Of all places it had to be Ithor. PW's stoic expression shifted into what he knew as a frown inside his mechanical thoughts. Ithor was one of the most restrictive planets the droid knew of, which was a issue for a droid of his caliber. Smuggling weapons onto the planet would be near impossible. This meant the weapons he had installed already were his best bet. There would be no additional help. Taking control of the of YT-2400 PW-3PX took his sweet time navigating the route displayed over the UI in the ship computer.

Several minutes later the freighter landed in its designated zone near said contacts. PW could see them outside. The hiss of the back ramp sounded aloud and decsending down the metal extremities walked a copper plated protocol droid? He had no weapons shown or gear. Was this the right guy?

" Greetings! You must be @9-LOM." PW-3PX nodded in the droids direction and moved his body to face the other man in the company. " This must be your....companion." The protocol droid paused briefly as if holding back his inner thoughts. " It is a pleasure to be of assistance."

 

[9-LOM]

Over a thousand pages of information injected into Nine's verbobrain, prompting them if they would like to replace or copy duplicate files. Replace was fine, for now. It was the droid's job, after all. It had been for a very long time - to be informed about the hunt. To know a beast is to know the land in which it lives, the prey upon which it feeds, the trees in which it sleeps, and evermore.

Nine turned to face the human. The droid raised their wrist, pressing a small button to initiate the transfer of files to both recipients. It was the Ithorian's contactee profile.

"Confirmed, smuggler-general," Nine said, unsure of the human's exact rank, "You will have received the informant's profile. We will acquire details on the target from them before initiating pursuit."

At the end of his words came walking the glittering capsule that was the 3PX unit, delivering greetings. Seeing the battered, patched chassis was, to some degree, disturbing to Nine. Clearly the protocol droid wasn't the slightest concerned, which meant it wasn't any of Nine's either. Instead of returning the salutations, however, Nine simply continued with their briefing.

“Planetary biological codex identifies the Baffor Tree as intelligent, interconnected species capable of mass communication across the jungle sector,” Nine blurted, “There is potential for using the flora to track our target for us.”

9-LOM stopped and held their wrist out between the three of them. A hologram of the target, the Ithorian Dragon, blipped from their wrist-projector. At the very same moment, the creature's information was being shared with the others.

“The Ithorian should know both the tree's location, and how to... communicate with it.”

Nine reached behind the fabric of their cape, unholstering an SE-14c blaster pistol in one hand, and a Valken-38x sniper rifle in the other. Both incredibly unwieldy old-empire firearms – but perfectly stable weapons for a certain droid. Nine moved them to more accessible mag-holsters on either side of their hip. Snug against their lower back was a Vandorian laser-knife, handy for all manner of things.

“The Ithorian's coordinates are available – he's somewhere in the jungle, nearby. Be vigilant for hostiles.”

[SIZE=13.3333px]The droid turned around with purpose, ready to proceed to the forest's edge once the squad was ready. [/SIZE]