Yo Ho Ho And a Bottle Of Ram

[Aver Brand]

Somewhere in the Galactic South
The Red Diamondhttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/109145-vekker-class-battle-cruiser/
02:47 GST

“Avast! Convoy on approach vector!”

“Nae noo, Putka,” chided Al-bal, running bony fingers over the head of the parrot perched on his shoulder. With plumage of vivid red and blue, the bird was a wild splash of color aboard an otherwise drab ship. Even its Captain dressed in morose brown and black – it was the stark white of his Givin features that really drew the eye.

That, and the thick aurodium necklace adorning his neck. It swayed heavy with an invisible pendant as he turned around, hidden by the dented plates of his armor.

He settled an eyeless gaze upon his crew. Would’ve smacked his lips, but he had none to smack. Instead he clicked his teeth. “Ye a’ ken aboot th’ war, o’ coorse.”

A round of nods. Men and women and indeterminable alien things clattered their vibroblades and loaded their guns with zeal. Greedy gazes glinted back at him.

“ ‘N’ whaur thir’s a war, thir’s support lines.”

More excitement. The Corsairs were chomping at the bit. The Helmsman was grinning madly on the Bridge, ready to ram the repainted Vekker-class through the convoy.

They’d drag it out of hyperspace with the help of interdictor mines set along the S-thread corridor. Al-bal glanced down. Wouldn’t be long now.

Vanir were a punctual lot.

“Strap in ‘n’ git duin, bastards. We’re giein’ thaim a winch richt soon!”

[member="Skurr"] | [member="Smallgrin Ben"]​

 

[Skurr]

In the bowels of the ship, where the lights were a little too dim, and the air a little too thick, he and his compatriots readied themselves. Electro-maces, the amped-up version of stun batons, were charged and tested, white arcs of electricity crawling across their surface like caterpillars. The venting of excess pressure from modified disruptor rifles lent a haze to the decking that gave the impression of moist, mountain fog. Skurr gave a sharp, mechanical blurt of static.

The sound, a disharmonic blurt from what sounded like a malfunctioning droid vocabulizer, was eerily reminiscent of the war cry of Sand People on not-so-distant Tattooine. An old shaman teetered up to the group of boarders, who kept themselves seperate from the rest of the crew near their own makeshift boarding pod. Stray wires hung from the top of a staff topped with what appeared to be an homage to the inlaid circuitry of a military hyperdrive.

<I calculate a 31.57% chance of suitable study material being hauled upon the convoy.> His voice, too, was static laced where it came from beneath a hood of blackened shadow. The shaman leaned on his staff as though it were the only thing keeping him upright, and Skurr gave a nod, the lengthy snout of his disruptor pistol pointed towards the decking. <And if there isn't suitable material, then what, Worthy One?>

The shaman considered this, gears grinding somewhere in that hood as it processed the question. <Suitable biological replacement life will prove sufficient for our needs.>

Skurr nodded, then dropped slowly to his knee, pounding a fist twice to his sternum before standing. <By your will, Worthy One.> With a hoot-blurt of static, the boarding party moved down the hall and towards their pod.

[member="Aver Brand"] [member="Smallgrin Ben"]

 

[Joy]

Restless fingers tapped a rhythm as he waited for the convoy to get ripped outta hyperspace by the empion mines. And by “he” we of course mean Benjamin Brijj, a Houk even more unsightly than usual for his species, on account of his missing left eye and several teeth. Once a merchant by trade, Old Ben Brijj fell on hard times and lost most everything. The only thing he kept in full was a sense of humor and that grin of his: a smile so wide and menacing that his crew took to calling him Smallgrin.

Well, Long Ben took a fancy to the name and made it his symbol. The armed transport he captained now, Red Libation, sported a grinning skull above bloody bones. No mistaking who they were or what they’d do.

He straightened as the blackness of space distorted.

“Here they come,” muttered the lumbering Houk.

The convoy of Vanir Tech cargo ships appeared. Half-a-dozen or more. Each alone wouldn’t pose a threat to the three captains, but there was safety in numbers.

Around him, corsairs stood bug-eyed and salivating. Ben grunted. Best not to get too greedy.

“Easy lads. Yeh can’t eat a whale in a day. We only want the one. Let Al-Bal’s Vekker lead the way.”

[member="Aver Brand"] [member="Skurr"]