Revenchent
Dungeon Master
Rikatal was a small settlement about a hundred miles north of the Tal'verda capital city of Kurs'taylir. It was little more than two cantinas, a grocery store, and a few rickety homes built along a constantly-swept street of asphalt. The people here were hardy, living off the land rather than relying on the conveniences many of the Mando'ade had come to appreciate. Unfortunately, they could not remain so for long.
Twelve construction-speeders hovered around massive sites on either side of the tiny village. Hundreds of workers, both organics and droids, hammered away at what would soon be an enormous wall of durasteel. Six turbolasers were to be fastened along the tops of the walls when construction ended.
A few meters out from the homes lay what would soon be the starport, barracks, armory, and various other smaller buildings serving a unique purpose to the Tal'verda military. The clan and its smaller allies were mobilizing. The Tal'verda house was host to its own private army, and it was preparing for war.
Calico whistled proudly as he watched one of the cranes heft a massive crate of supplies. Their industrial might was a significant part of his plan for the future. If the Tal'verda were not entirely ready for war on their lands, they would not succeed in their future endeavors. That was why Cal had come here: to oversee construction, and more importantly, to forget about those he had left behind.
A wife. A child. All abandoned for the cause. He hadn't been a good father.
Grumbling a curse under his breath, the aging warrior made his way into the cantina. It was a quiet place. Only a handful of people were within. A group had gathered around the holovision watching the news. The reporter was going on about some kind of atrocity on Roche.
"Unfortunate, that." The soldier grumbled. Breathing a quiet sigh, he settled into one of the corner seats, and folded his arms over his chest. He wasn't the boy he used to be. Walking twelve miles half-kit wasn't a cakewalk anymore.
Galaar would have had my shebs for this. So lazy.
Cal snickered at the thought and smoothed out his long black coat. It barely covered the phrik breastplate he wore beneath. He didn't travel in full kit these days. Too damn unnecessary.
With visible boredom, he turned his hazy blue eyes over toward the window, finding himself content to simply watch the snow fall. A group of travelers was coming into town. Some of them were new settlers. It would do well to greet them when he arrived. Hopefully they liked the snow.
Twelve construction-speeders hovered around massive sites on either side of the tiny village. Hundreds of workers, both organics and droids, hammered away at what would soon be an enormous wall of durasteel. Six turbolasers were to be fastened along the tops of the walls when construction ended.
A few meters out from the homes lay what would soon be the starport, barracks, armory, and various other smaller buildings serving a unique purpose to the Tal'verda military. The clan and its smaller allies were mobilizing. The Tal'verda house was host to its own private army, and it was preparing for war.
Calico whistled proudly as he watched one of the cranes heft a massive crate of supplies. Their industrial might was a significant part of his plan for the future. If the Tal'verda were not entirely ready for war on their lands, they would not succeed in their future endeavors. That was why Cal had come here: to oversee construction, and more importantly, to forget about those he had left behind.
A wife. A child. All abandoned for the cause. He hadn't been a good father.
Grumbling a curse under his breath, the aging warrior made his way into the cantina. It was a quiet place. Only a handful of people were within. A group had gathered around the holovision watching the news. The reporter was going on about some kind of atrocity on Roche.
"Unfortunate, that." The soldier grumbled. Breathing a quiet sigh, he settled into one of the corner seats, and folded his arms over his chest. He wasn't the boy he used to be. Walking twelve miles half-kit wasn't a cakewalk anymore.
Galaar would have had my shebs for this. So lazy.
Cal snickered at the thought and smoothed out his long black coat. It barely covered the phrik breastplate he wore beneath. He didn't travel in full kit these days. Too damn unnecessary.
With visible boredom, he turned his hazy blue eyes over toward the window, finding himself content to simply watch the snow fall. A group of travelers was coming into town. Some of them were new settlers. It would do well to greet them when he arrived. Hopefully they liked the snow.