Hexaflexagon

Star Wars: Left Behind [Hex & Gowi]

@Gowi
Guess who did a thing finally. Probably sucks but you know.

Star Wars: Left Behind [Hex & Gowi]

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Charuri Rol

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“Anything is better than indebting ourselves to a Hutt.”

Charuri breathed outward through her nose heavily. The frustration starting to finally begin to outweigh the fear. Naat was right of course. Dealing with a Hutt even one as apparently reputable as Zaarda would only end up bringing them more trouble. Another favor to weigh over their heads, another issue that would end up poking its head up once eventually. But not reaching out for help would be admitting that they were alone, stranded and fucked. That they were going into a Sabacc game down money and against a dealer that was playing for the other side. She slapped her hands hard against her legs in anger throwing the upwards as they walked.

"So then what? Getting on any transport is out of the question, those are going to be scanned of course. That leaves us with stealing a ship? And even if we manged to do that all we do is piss off more people and then you fly your way through the defense fleet that's been sitting up there since the Separatist attack?" Charuri questioned voice still a whisper rising in volume. Eyes constantly flickering away from her companion watching the other denizens walking through the streets. Like most in the under city they seemed preoccupied at the moment. Caught in their own business never minding the prison standing next to them.

A jarring musical chord played. Charuri watched as the projector ahead of her changed from the orange flickering form of a nude Twi'lek beckoning passerby's into a nearby strip club with the well dressed form of a human woman. On the bottom of the screen in scrolling letters the words Breaking News flickering the harsh white glow illuminating Charuri's face. As the woman looked up to face the camera, real time footage of the Jedi Temple still ablaze appeared on the video screen.

"Kalla Tyree with Republic Nightly News coming to you with updates to an ongoing story. In a statement we received from the Chancellor's office in response to the attack on the Jedi Temple. Republic intelligence had uncovered a Jedi plot to assassinate the Chancellor in collaboration with their Separatist allies following the directive of the late traitor Count Dooku. From this point forward any Jedi seen shall be considered traitors to the Republic and wanted criminals with a bounty of Seven million credits upon each head. And in further news a military curfew shall be enforced tonight from...."

Charuri stood in abject horror at the display hands balled into fists. Traitors? Them traitors? After all they had done. After all her friends and allies that had died for them. Traitors? Why? Just why. And then the announcement flickered away and the glow vanished replaced with the flickering orange warmth of the animated stripper. She turned to Naat and then looked around at the eyes now seemingly all suddenly drawn to them, starring at them. Whispering to one another. Pointing.

"There is a dock, three levels down. Let's go." She said grabbing onto her hand and yanking her more forcefully than intend trying to calm the shaking in her hand.

The first time she had entered the Undercity with Feemor she was overwhelmed to say the least. They had gone down as a gesture of good faith towards the Security Force, helping deal with some local hooligans and criminals. That night she moved through the motions like a droid following orders and staying as close to her master as possible. Afraid that if she let go she would be swept away in the current of bodies never to be seen again. In that evening along they deal with two assaults, three stabbing, seven robberies and one drive-by all within short order of one another. An overwhelming deluge of death and suffering unseen since the occasional whispers of it she received back at Zulo's.

It took time and repeat visit for her to grow accustomed to the constant subliminal motion of the dredges. A deranged experiment whose controller had their thumb jammed on the fast forward button. Stop moving catch your breath for a second and you were swallowed up. Go too fast and you draw attention to yourself or worse break the delicate balance and vanish quicker than those that became complacent. The next trophy for some deranged killer or a slave getting packed and shipped away to the outer rim.

She was grateful now to have learned the rhythms and the dance. Now as she moved as prey, harsh neon illuminating pinheads of moisture collecting on her light fur. Painfully aware of the pounding in her chest and the contract and release of her lungs. She turned down another alley some fifty yards out from the dock when she stopped. She felt something, she could tell that Naat felt it as well. She dropped her hand reached down towards her light saber not drawing but ready.

Out from the shadows ahead of them a man with shoulder length auburn hair walked out flanked by three thugs. The clack of feet behind her made her eyes flicker in the other direction where four more thugs walked lead by a calm Rodian in smugglers leathers.

"Now what do we have here." The man spoke in a lazy drawn out drawl.

"Two stinkin Jedi from the looks of it." The Rodian called back in shrill Huttese.

"You're mistaken." Charuri started towards the man even as she whispered under her breath to Naat. "You take care of the guys behind us."

"Ooh I don't think em' mistaken little lady. Cause I see fourteen million credits standing right in front of me. Man could do a lot with that couldn't he?"

"Feed his family. Get a nice ship. And then some." The Rodian responded as they edge closer.

"Listen we have had a really long day and we don't want any trouble." Charuri answered eyes focused on the man watching as his hand rested causally on the heavy blaster on his belt.

"Naw you listen. You two give yourselves up and we bring you into the authorities only slightly used."

"How bout you die in a kriffing hole?"

With that the man draw his blaster and fired the sound being with the snapwhirr and a flash of green as a lightsaber was ignited and sent the blaster shot wide sending a nearby sign into a shower of sparks. One of the man rushed her viborsword drawn and slammed it downward. Charuri parried upward expecting to slice the blade in twine but instead was met with solid resistance as the saber sparked across the cortosis-weave. She knocked the blade away and pushed forward in a strong offense blade and saber sparking against one another as the thug matched her blows with her own. She overextened going to far and the thug broke through her guard and smashed a free elbow into the side of her head sending her backwards.

She heard the shot and reflexively brought he blade up to deflect as the red haired human tried to get a shot off while she was stunned. Her attention was drawn away though as her sword wielding friend came back with a flurry of blows. Charuri switched to the defense block after block. He came down a hard overhand blow and she counter saber rushing upward with a flash of green. Blades locking together. The thug with his greater strength pushed downward trying to bring the saber down atop of her. In an act of desperation Charuri kicked outward with one of her legs making solid contact and hearing the crack of a knee. The thug screamed out as he dropped to the ground as he did Charuri brought her saber down severing his sword hand from his body. As he screamed outward Charuri used the opportunity to channel the force and sent him flinging into one of his allies preparing a shot sending them down a crumpled pile.

Pushing the advantage she rushed towards the red haired man. The other remaining thug jumped in the way blaster raised. A flash of light as the barrel was cut off. A shout of surprise as a leg was swept out from underneath her. A thud as she crashed into the ground. A gurgled yell as a boot heel slammed into her throat keeping her pinned to the ground. Charuri turned towards the red haired human panting but saber still raised and pointed at his face.

"Run. Now." The man nodded and dropped his blaster as he turned and ran in the other direction. She sighed as she stepped off of the other thugs throat who breathed out a sigh of relief. Before she had a chance to make a move the young jedi give her a swift kick to the side of the head sending her off to the land of sleep with her two other fellows.

The sound of fighting had died down and she assumed that Naat had easily dispatched her own foes. She looked at two of the knocked out thugs. Their sizes were similar enough that she and Naat would probably be able to fit into their clothes. She began the slow and methodical process of stripping the bodies for their gear as she did she called over her shoulder.

"Hope you are alive. Cause I think we just got lucky for the first blasted time this night."

Spiritum

@vietmyke
Myke if anyone else said that I'd feel guily.

But yeah sorry bout that folks. Works been crazy and then a blizzard happened. But I'm working on the post. I can even link you to the google drive document so that you can watch me procrastinate in real time. lol

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

There ya folks go. A post there are many like it but this one is mine. And now I have to get ready to shovel a car out of 16 or so inches of snow. Woooooot.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

^{M A N Y Y E A R S P R I O R}

The end of the wooden staff slammed into the side of Corr’s head. A glob of blood fell limply splattering against stone.

“Faster.”

Vision slowly cleared as he reaffirmed his grip upon his staff. Jerome Rhinebeck stood across from him clutching the staff in his hand. He stood much like Corr shirtless, dark skin bare to the elements despite the winter chill that surrounded them. Despite his advanced age, he had the musculature of a man half his age. Long beard of black peppered with splashes of grey. The centuries old Weissbern Monastery silhouetted behind him by the first early rays of morning sun having just now broke the horizon. His own staff rested easily in a defense grip years of practice and toil making the motions effortless.

With a yell, the fifteen year old boy crossed the gap between them lunging forward with the staff. This started a small rapport of wood knocking against wood. Each blow being thrown out being easily deflected, the older man never loosing eye contact with his pupil. Corr overextended and his staff was easily pushed and anchored to the ground. As he attempted to pull it free from underneath his opponents staff, a foot easily rocketed into his solar plexus sendong him tumbling back.

Jerome tossed the staff back to him.

“Why do we fight?”

“We are the sword. Like the spirits we are double-edged refined both in mind and body.” Corr answered back reciting Scripture with ease.

This time his opponent rushed forward, the boy was barely able to pull his staff upward bracing against an overhand blow that made his arms quiver. As concentrated as he was at keeping the staff at bay he did not notice as a heavy leg sweeped out and knocked his legs out from underneath him. The air was forced out of his lungs in a small gale as he reflexively curled up against the pain. As no other blow came he pushed himself to feet seeing Jerome once again across the way from him.

“Why do we fight?”

“Cause beating up kids half your age makes you feel young again?” Cor answered as he circled more cautiously this time. He pushed outward with a feint, calling the bluff Jerome did not twitch as he circled counter to him. As he reached one hundred and eighty degrees on the circle, Cor swapped his footing and struck out. A similar exchange from earlier occurred as Jerome blocked blow after blow before slamming the staff into Corr’s right side buckling him before jabbing an end with just enough force to the top of the skull to send him stumbling backward flat on his ass.

“Why do we fight!”

Corr gripped at the palms of his hands hard. The veins in his arms bulging with tension. He looked from his staff still on the ground and back towards Jerome. He wiped the sweat from his forehead smearing blood across his face. And with a yell he charged at Jerome going low. The staff lashed out snapping like a whip across his left shoulder and back but he pushed. There was the sickening thud of impact as Corr met his waist and wrapped his hands around him. He pushed forward with enough force to send both of them crashing to the ground. Corr landing on top one on the chest, fist raised.

“To protect people!” He answered and slammed the fist downward where it met flat earth. Jerome’s head easily snapping out of the way. A smile broke through the heavy beard as he clapped his hands around Corr's head pulling it downward as he brought his own upward smashing hard skull against the bridge of the young man's nose sensing him reeling backwards in a splash of blood.

Getting up from his prone position he tossed his own staff away and raised his fists. The smile still on his face.

“Good. Again.”

^{S O L D I E R E N C A M P M E N T - Z A L E R A T U N D R A}

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As soon as they entered the mess tent Corr vanished. Partly this was because if he spent anymore amount of time next to Carmen, the Giant would probably have its own version of a meltdown, and also because he had to prepare the food. The camp as small as it was did not have a dedicated mess staff and it was expected that they could take care of themselves. And any excuse to get away was a good one.

Cooking was a strange thing. It was something that while he wouldn't be winning any awards for his fine cuisine it was something he could do. A skill honed through years toiling in the Monastery's kitchen, where the only punishment of failure was that your own dinner tasted like burnt crap. It helped him clear his head if whatever was happening. A task which he could throw everything he had against it and forget about everything else for a few blessed moments.

Luckily for the ragtag bunch of misfits across the way whose conversation was dulled to a lowed mumble, Corr had already been prepping for the meal earlier. Though of course with the increase of bodies some minor adjustments needed to be made. As he chopped and cooked he tried his best to ignore the grumbling of the Giant. He tried his best to ignore the fact that he was going to have to look after a kid that couldn't even handle long distance travel. He tried his best to ignore the fact that he would have to look after a team where half of them couldn't even seem to Control their Aeons and not have them perform minor outburst. He did not think, he only cooked.

Eventually he moved out from the opposite wall of the tent holding a platter easily afloat balanced across one gargantuan hand and a jug of simple water in the other. His ears picking up what introductions as he could as he slid over with surprising amount of silence given his stature. His gait slow and controlled careful so that he could hear the bits and pieces of conversation that flared up around him. Taking note of names and general bearings even though the briefing had told him as watch.

Yet you see Corr was an observant fellow, an observance only further increased by the Giant's embrace upon his senses. And he could feel something building, something akin to a time bomb about to explode in a glass factory. Something whose origin’s epicenter was at the direct middle point between Nic and Carmen. Corr was partly intrigued and mostly terrified. So he moved slowly in such a path so that his face came within both of their respective lines of vision for a fleeting moment.

The eyes first flickered to Nic and they were kind and they were beseeching a simple plea. Careful. You crazy bastard. Next they flickered towards Carmen much sterner this time but knowing it probably wasn't going to do much. Play nice. And after the brief half a second it took for him to pass and place the water down he pulled away. Content to let whatever was about to transgress to transgress, happy now that at least if somebody died he at least tried.

Moving as far away from the prospective blast radius as he could he placed the platter on the table. It was venison nothing that would make any heads roll, but surprisingly suitable to the pallette given the lack of material to work with. He made a motion gesturing for the others to dig in. With a sigh he sat down upon an unclaimed chair creaking underneath the newfound weight atop of it. He rubbed at the exhaustion in his eyes as he spoke to no one in particular.

“Corr. Mission is mysterious probably better that way. No time for second guesses. I was instructed to make sure you folks don't die. Cool? Cool.”

And then he closed his eyes trying his best to ignore the constant thrumming coming from somewhere in the back of his head.

Spiritum

@AlexStarsion
Why Adventure of course!



FYI I'm aiming for the next story post to hit Friday evening EST.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

^{S O L D I E R E N C A M P M E N T - Z A L E R A T U N D R A}

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"The practice shows. Truly, I admire the dedication to your craft." Corr quipped back to Bruce as he rolled his shoulders, straightening his back

Corr felt them. Not in the natural sense of touch of hand to flesh but on a more abstract sense. Attuned as he was to the calls of the Giant merged to his flesh, he sensed as it sensed, eternal and without restraint. It was to this degree that his role as 'protector' achieved its apex, being able to sense subtle shifts of presence. To this degree he could intercept and bring order where disorder brew. A deep and primal empathy towards pain and suffering. The Giant attuned to the natural procession of order and deterred by its disruption. In strife this was a tool, an asset harnessed to its fullest. In the day to day it was another burden, the struggles of a false omniscience. Fleeting flashes of Self passing by in ephemeral flashes. Reflected in the flicking sparks of energy within the iris of ember. To his credit he had learned partly to dull the sensation to a low thrum and yet even then some still cut through.

As the rest of the SOLDIERS began their procession he could feel the Giant's unrest. It was a curious thing its deliberate aversion to what Corr could only assume to be its own kind. An animalistic aversion towards the unknown and ethereal. These 'foreigners' were a disruption, their eldritch pulses interfering with life held dear. Yet the instinct to crush chaos with force was without form as these sparks of chaos were as trapped as it. To this level Giant and man stood at ideological embankments. Corr taught of redemption and harmony saw these approaching souls not as inherent evils but the very life that the Giant meant to flourish.

As the embers of association flared, Corr couldn't help but feel amused. Life in the Fort and its various satellite facilitates was one of isolation. Lonely rooms more devoid of life than the monastic cells of his childhood. Physical contact with others limited to brief fleeting touches. Most voices coming formless through hidden speakers, presence without a face to connect. The outside world always viewed through the lens of digital reconstruction. Yet here there was voices and the sounds of merriment and companionship. It would of been almost humbling if not for the context of their arrival. Somewhere across the strait black as the storms that had a habit of raging across them lay Death. Befitting Corr supposed for creatures bred for war to bond within its boundaries.

A smile broke across his face as he saw Corbyn approach him. Those brief moments of physical contact came in the form of similar ilk, Commanders. (Corr never liked that term. He never saw himself as a leader or commander of much of anything.) The general thinking of the higher ups being that a degree of familiarity would benefit organization and cooperation. As he drew in he clasped the other man's arm, gargantuan hands almost swallowing the forearm. From what he knew of the mission at hand Corbyn would be the one leading the infiltration team. Something that Corr was thankful for, for he and sneaking did not cohabitate.

Pointing with a look of mock sternness towards Samm. "Are those whispers of sedition I hear? Disagreement with the Govern's glorious food policies is punishable by death."

"But since blocks of chalk passing as food are not good enough for you socialites," Corr replied. "I've managed to gather enough material to make a meal worthy of your delicate palates. Hope you enjoy dead things....."

He could feel her before he saw her. Whatever bubbling sense of warmth that was building in his body shriveled and died. He pivoted his body stopping as heterochromia met desolate blue, impossibly cold. There was an old parable about a wayward traveler and her continued dalliances with a demon. A warning of the urges of temptation and compelling them to find courage in the face of evil. As of recently Corr had begun to find a newfound appreciation in the words of the story. Corr himself much like the traveler always had a habit of finding trouble. As a young child he was guilty of searching it out, never learning to let sleeping beasts lay. And what was Carmen but trouble animated by the breath of life. Akin to looking into the void at which all things were born from and destined to return. Intriguing in the all consuming fatalistic sense that made the great philosophers go mad.

"You are," His eyebrows furrowed as he pondered his word choice. Despite the shaking of his head, approval tinged the inflections of his speech. "so unsettling sometimes you know that?"

"But yes the idea of satiation has its merits. We can't all go rush to our deaths on empty stomachs now can we?" He turned away from her cupping his mouth in his hands and projecting his voice. It boomed over the surrounding area cutting through whatever discussion was commencing.

"Oi! As much as I love standing in vomit stained snow, it's time to eat!" He turned back around as he gave a mock bow towards Carmen, arm outstretched allowing her to lead the way.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

she smiles at Corr he always smells the best, he's her favourite and nods slight and inviting. "I don't know about you, but coffee won't be enough. I'm famished."

@Rockette

In other news posty post should be up soon.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

^{S O L D I E R E N C A M P M E N T - Z A L E R A T U N D R A}

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Boots squelched on formless slush entombed somewhere between free-flowing liquid and rigid solid. The steps followed a steady procession each impact regulated and precise. They froze as the man that the feet belonged to adjusted the load that was bearing down on his shoulders. The shifting of shoulders sent soundless drops of blood falling to the greedy earth. The outward breath a white plume as water vapor condensed in the air. Then the footsteps renewed themselves cutting a path through the encampment. Finally stopping at a tent of geodesic form made to counter the winds of the tundra.

With a low grunt Corr deposited the load. The hulking lifeless form of an elk flopping to the ground. The Govern had provided the encampment with standard military supply yet Corr refused. A simple underlying indentation in his brain from youth. Food was not given to you, food was earned. He gave a final prayer over the carcass compelling its spirit to find some measure of rest before he set to work. Beginning the methodical process of pulling away flesh and separating meat from bone. Time seemed to accelerated forward at a hastened pace and when he finally looked up the sun had bled away into encroaching darkness.

He wiped the blood from his hands with a rag as he watched the sky. The expanding darkness a comforting sight after what felt like years trapped inside. It reminded him of home, of simpler times. Sleek forms of Shyps broke across his vision as they came in for a landing on the perimeter of the encampment. The awaited arrival. The movement arose short sparks of activity among the scattered denizens of the camp. Corr finished storing the meat at a careful pace as if afraid of tipping some unseen scale. Using the same rag from earlier he went about cleaning his knife as he listened to the scurry of activity.

These Shyps would be containing the last of the SOLDIERS. Corr himself had arrived a little over a week ago settling himself with little pomp. In that time what information Corr had learned of the upcoming mission did not do much to quell any unease. Having gone over the simple three page mission briefing over and over again for any scrap of detail. At its heart it was a simple smash and grab, nothing that the regular military couldn't handle. They claimed it was for secrecy but special operations and emergency response were trained for things like this. Yet the Govern had deemed it necessary to play their proverbial ace in the sleeve. For all intents and purposes Corr knew it for what it was a test run, and test runs didn't come without surprises.

He wasn't on duty but never the less made his way towards the landing area, keeping up appearances and all. He stood in direct juxtaposition to the camp he traversed to meet the coming Shyps. Dressed in what the kindest of souls would describe as an ensemble of rags and tattered furs. He looked more at home roughing it in the wilderness than he did a military excursion. Death as it were not avoided with metal defenses but rather welcomed to try. Personnel moved frantically - the simultaneous release and build up of the tension within the camp. The shyps setting forth the next stage of a task three weeks in the making .

As he approached the perimeter there was a sound akin to a slow-moving rockslide. The others around him didn't seem to react, for the sound itself was internal in origin, trapped. Corr sighed as he halted his movements and scanned the horizon ahead. He sighed as he caught the origin of the discontent. Underneath his breath he whispered. "Yeah I get it you don't like em. Too bad."

A stretch of silence was the only response.

The subjects in question were two of his companions clustered ahead of him, Bruce and Carmen. As opposed to his stalwart companion Corr was not a particular fan of judging on impression. The Fayth teaching understanding more often than it did discrimination. Yet he would be lying if he said he did not feel the looming sense of unease. When he was younger he would watch the storms approach from the belfry, it was a similar feeling of impending conflict. Yet partly he knew that was of his 'friend's' influence as it was not the most sociable of creatures. The mere presence of its own kind generating a level of unappreciated unease. Despite this he walked forward and made no attempts to hide his approach.

He positioned himself between the two with a respectful distance between each. Undeterred by the flurry of wind and slush that seemed to circle around Carman. Upon closer inspection his veins pulsed with a green glow achieving heightened homeostasis to combat the increased chill. He fixed the wrappings on his hands as they awaited for the lowering of landing ramps.

"You know, you two are intimidating enough without your constant glower and your wind." He mused only loud enough for them to hear. It was less of a jab as it were more of a half-hearted truth. Though Corr knew its purpose, he himself didn't see much merit in the alpha dog routine. Respect was earned not forced through fear or gesticulation.

Finally in quick succession the ramps of the Shyps dropped and out walked their cargo. Corr pivoted his body as a blurr moved past him before progressing into a pool of anger and vomit. Despite himself Corr give a muted laugh though he did note that he was going to have to keep an eye out for that one. He titled his head backwards towards the display as if to further demonstrate his earlier point.

He fell back into a comfortable silence giving a small wave to the approaching SOLDIERS. A peculiar center of warmth amongst building unease.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

@Rockette
Hmm the 6'6" guy whose entire premise is getting people to notice and attack him, and whose weapon is dare I say the world's scariest chainsaw on a stick. Yep totally the correct skill set to stealthily infiltrate behind enemy lines. (I mean maybe in the James Bond sense where sneaking becomes blow everything up halfway through.) Yeahhh Corr is probably on the distraction team.