Whill Shaman Dažbog
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Water is the most important element of life. For without Water, you cannot make Coffee.
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Post by Whill Shaman Dažbog on May 8, 2013 16:06:04 GMT -8
Jai'galaar was a heavily fortified military base. The defenses overlap with those of the spaceport built next to it to make this site the most heavily guarded location in the system. The concentration of naval power in geosynchronous orbit above the base traffic is often heavy, with the servicing of the Concordian fleet very much a part of the spaceport's duties.
Situated to the south of the main entrance to the base proper were several dozen hangars to accommodate ships of varying sizes. The approach to the landing fields requires careful navigation as towering mountains loom to either side, creating savage crosswinds and updrafts. Turbolaser cannons adorn the jagged peaks making any approach from a hostile force unlikely due to the killing zones and crossfires these enable. The base's energy shield can be expanded to cover much of the base though at significant cost to power.
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Corr
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Post by Corr on May 17, 2013 11:52:39 GMT -8
Commander Maraak: Chief Intel Officer, Clan Vhett. An unmarked, rather scruffy-looking shuttle settled down on a landing pad that was normally reserved for high-ranking officials. Settling down on its hardstand the shuttle vented coolant before its landing ramp lowered.
An official stepped up to the ramp with a disapproving from on his face.=Official="What do you think your doing setting that dilapidated piece of junk here? This berth is for Commanders!"Still trying to get the enhanced imaging working on his visor as he strolled down the ramp Maraak paid little to attention to the official. He was stood less than a few feet away before he noticed him.
As his vision blurred in and out with the imaging he finally brought his attention to the man in front of him. He was confused at first but soon realised that his armour was so charred and battered that the crest and emblems were not easily recognised.
Still...
Instead of replying he tore off his helmet and narrowed his piercing grey eyes at the man.=Official=
"I want this piece of junk moved before...""Tell me, sergeant..." Maraak's voice was like a nail scraping across slate, cutting across the foolish mans tirade. "Since when has Jai'Galaar been run by bureaucratic nobodies like yourself?" =Official=
What? I...Watching in secret amusement as the man went red then paled into a sickly pearl the wily Mando, top agent to Corr Vhett himself, adopted a nonchalant tone, his voice and demeanor urbane and polite."Its okay, my good man. Perhaps we can start again?" His eyes and tone turned to steel once more, switching from candid to hostile with frightening ease."Do you, perchance, remember how to salute?" The man saluted smartly."Excellent work. We'll make a soldier of you yet." Clipping his helmet to his belt Maraak nodded in the direction of the hangar bays."I'm going to take a shuttle to the orbit. You have no objections?" The man nearly twisted his head off he shook it so hard, eyes wide and hands trembling. Maraak smiled at the doors ones identity could open and brushed past the man, tapping him on the shoulder affectionately."Thought you may see it my way." Within minutes Maraak was in a shuttle and heading to orbit where he would take a ship to seek out allies in the war against the Jedi on Yavin IV. To fight Force users one must employ Force users, and Maraak knew just where to look... |
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Jul 24, 2014 8:18:19 GMT -8
Six weeks later...
The place buzzed with activity. With more Concordian assets gathered in the system than had been the case for over a year the fortress of Jai'galaar abounded with armoured figures going about various activities. Those stationed on board ships of the fleet afforded shore leave passed through, on their way to visit family, or off to seek pleasure on the planet. Many details needed attending and, with the facilities in orbit dedicated to repair and maintenance, the place had become the centre of all naval operations that were not conducted from the bridges of the various warships of the Concordian fleet. The tapcafs and eating establishments that had sprung up around the installation were doing a roaring trade following the military's return, noise and activity extending long into the night.
Further from the fortress itself, several miles down the rocky road that descended from the jagged mountains, the warehouses and supply centres that saw to the upkeep of Jai'galaar, storing foodstuffs and materials gathered from farms and mines all over the planet, maintained a steady stream of traffic in and out, funnelling trade off world as well as keeping local establishments going.
The landing field to the south, now a permanent feature due to the fortress spaceport prioritising military traffic, was equally busy with ships blasting for space, or dropping out of the skies, at regular intervals. Massive construction was under way as the Concordians saw to increasing demands at the civilian port, air traffic control towers being erected.
Stood at a junction in the road, back to Jai'galaar and facing the vast pains beyond the spaceport, Ven Siri drew back his arm and launched another stone down the trail with a snarl. Armoured in sleek black durasteel, with plates of beskar covering vital area's, standing well over six feet in height, he looked every part the classic Mandalorian warrior. The bulky suit did little to disguise the lean, athletic build of the man, every motion describing the lethal power that this being possessed. Also apparent to anyone observing was the annoyance the figure contained, a seething fury that seemed to saturate the area around him. What was not apparent was the reasons for the ire, or the untested nature of this man's abilities. Eighteen years of age and still as yet untested in actual combat, Ven ached for the opportunity to test his mettle against a real foe, not just a training bout with his peers. Everyone of his age had been deployed with their various units yet here he was, stuck on Concord Dawn, unitless. A lost soul unable to seek his glory.
The rock bounced down the path, seeming to carry the throwers anger with it as it struck itself repeatedly against ground, fellow rock, and the scarce shrubbery scattered around the area. With his helmet at his feet, dark hair hanging either side of his pale face, Ven let out a heavy sigh as he bent to scoop up another rock, mailed fist closing around it so tightly it seemed as if it may get crushed in the steely grip.
"Oh suck it up, big boy. It could be worse..."
The voice, a laconic drawl, issued from the prone form of Sheva Torren. Laying on her back with her sniper rifle leaning against a rock within easy reach, helm balanced on her right knee, she lifted her head and arched an eyebrow at the other warrior. With lustrous black hair many considered her a raven-haired beauty, a cute piece of as... a notion quickly dispelled once the hot light started flying. At twenty years of age she was already the veteran of several campaigns, much to the chagrin of her current companion.
"You'll have your moment in the light soon enough."
His answering grunt was less than convinced as he hurled a second rock after the first. Away from the hustle and bustle of the fortress Sheva had thought this a good place to take their ease but Ven yearned for activity. Still, anything to spend time with her. A final huff of annoyance and he turned to stump the few paces to where she lay, dropping down besides her and draping one arm across her chest.
"I guess we could find something to do while we wait..."
He smiled as he leaned closer only to be halted in his tracks as her comlink chimed insistently. A snarl escaped him as he drew back, throwing both hands up in the air in mockingly tragic woe.
"Can't a guy catch a break!?"
She smiled as she sat up, a mischievous grin that did little to alleviate the desire raging within him. She reached over to pat his cheek before drawing out the infernal device that had ruined the moment.
"Put it on ice, Romeo. It'll keep....
Torren here." She spoke into the comm.
The voice was too faint for him to hear but, by the look of concentration on her face, he could see it was something serious. With a muttered oath he rose to his feet, gathering his helmet from the ground where he had set it. She closed the comm with a look of apology on her face, also rising to her feet in one smooth motion.
"I've been recalled. Gra'tua is mobilising..."
He nodded once, the resentment at her being taking from him so soon and the resentment that she was getting deployed warring within him. He kept his silence as they made their way to the speeder, not trusting himself to speak, she allowing him his reticence. He would take her back to base and see her on her way... again. He wouldn't deny her the glory, of that he was adamant. With a growl the speeder roared to life, the sound seeming to mirror his internal conflict as they sped up the trail to Jai'galaar.
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Mar 3, 2015 17:59:38 GMT -8
The battered swoop cruised effortlessly through the heavily armoured gates of the military base, its smooth flight belaying the rather decadent image it portrayed. That man guiding the craft looked every bit the human version of the swoop itself, just as battered, just as scared, but piloting with grace and ease that spoke to his proficiency. When the man stilled the bike and stood his movements were sure and precise as he uncoiled himself from the saddle. At nearly six and a half foot his as a big man. His frame seemed bulky but most of that was his armour. Underneath he as lean and covered in rippling muscles, toned and spare. Nothing of the ridiculous body builder physiques seen among hired hands and body guards. This man was a pure fighter. His armour, what was left of it, consisted of a heavily used breastplate, not the full shell that a lot of the Mandalorians were sporting these days. It covered torso and back but that was about it. The mans upper arms were bare, glinting with a light sheen of sweat in the dazzling Concordian sun. Vambrace and gauntlets covered his lower arms to near the elbows, the beskar a dull grey that seemed to reject the light. Various pits and bulges suggested hidden sheaths and electronics within the gloves, the only thing betraying the armour as anything other than run down. Heavy boots and trousers that were little more than rags made up the apparel and a jetpack rode upon his back, the stump of a missile poking over the right shoulder. For weapons he carried am E-21 repeating Blaster Rifle negligently in his right hand and twin Deathhammer blaster pistols rode high on each thigh. A wicked looking sword rode at his left hip, the blade curved slightly as it tapered towards the point.
The man was known only as "Priest", a fanatical freelance warrior that preached the wrath of Kad everywhere he went. He was supposedly working as a bounty hunter, having needed to stop at Concord Dawn to refuel and resupply, though nobody had yet to see him spend a single credit. His accent was strange, neither that of a Concordian nor the more common lilt of those of Mandayaim. It seemed clipped and remote, perhaps that of an outlying colony. Not much could be said for his look, one may think as he stretched languidly next to the swoop. An unkempt beard covered his face, hanging down to brush against the top of his chest. The dark brown hair hung in a single thick braid down to somewhere beneath the jetpack, much in need of rebraiding. His eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows, slate grey stones that held about as much warmth as a Kamonian on Hoth. Still, to many a Concordian there was something familiar about him...
After a brief pause to watch a Concordian strike squad called Gra'tua load aboard their transport the man made a strange gesture before touching two fingers to his forehead in salute before turning abruptly and setting off at a brisk walk. He didn't walk far before he turned into a hangar in which sat his ship, an old Pursuer-Class enforcement ship known only as The Chapel. Through the hatch at the back of the ship and into the interior Priest paused for a moment to study the man slumped in one of the cages that occupied the main body of the ship. Still unconscious the man had jet black hair and was dressed in a silk suit that was all the fashion in the Core Worlds apparently. Priest considered checking on him further but decided against it for now. He wasn't going anywhere and it would give him something to do once he jumped to lightspeed. Turning to his right he reached out for the ladder to the bridge and pulled himself up effortlessly, dropping lightly into the pilots seat and beginning the preflight checklist. He had no trouble getting launch clearance, the locals likely happy to see him on his way, and was soon rocketing for space.
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Mar 26, 2015 12:21:15 GMT -8
fromThe little freighter settled down roughly on its landing pads. It wasn't long before the trio of armoured beings made their way out of the ship, setting the security system as they left. True, the ship wasn't all that expensive, but it would be annoying to replace it. The style of each of the suits of armour was different, as were the basic colours that made up most of the armour. Each however had an identical badge painted on some location on their armour, a rose on a blue disc, imposed on a black & red band. One in sky blue light armour, Luce, had the badge just above the knee guard on his right leg. The one in the rich purple tactical armour had it centred over his heart, with the band winding completely around his torso. The last was in some kind of EOD armour & had the emblem on the back of his left hand.-Luce Right, let's get this over with. I don't like all this open sky. The other two nodded in silent agreement. as G3 'clones' they had graduated a little more than thirty years ago. The fact that they had spent most of those years on one of the D'Ordinii's mobile colony ships meant that they lack of bulkheads around made them more than a little anxious. The first stop of course would be to ask for directions to a reliable merchant.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Mar 26, 2015 12:46:35 GMT -8
"Gar verde?"
{{You soldiers?"
The voice came from the top of a stack of cargo crates heaped in the corner of the hangar and belonged to a boy of about ten years old. Sat cross-legged atop his chosen perch the child peered down at them through a mop of unruly brown hair, blue eyes bright in the afternoon sun. His face was tanned under the smudges of dirt and an easy smile flickered across his lips. In his lap he cradled a vicious-looking blade of roughly a foot in length and had paused in the act of running a whetstone down it.
"Gar shaadla guuror verde..."
{{You move like soldiers...}}
He lowered his intense blue orbs down to the blade he held, moving it slightly so the sunlight glinted off of its edge. He wore a hodgepodge of clothing, bits of armour and tattered rags. A band was tied around his head, doing little to keep his hair out of his face as he glanced downwards. With a flick of his head he flipped the hair back as his eyes once again sought out the three newcomers. He paused for a moment as if ordering his thoughts before speaking in heavily accented and halting basic.
"You here for war?"
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Mar 26, 2015 13:01:12 GMT -8
Luce didn't respond right away, the accent here made the familiar language a little odd, but still understandable.
-Luce
Dar verde. Olar gota eesu verborir.
(Not soldiers. We're here to buy equipment & fuel)
Then again, the child's basic had been far worse than his Mando'a. It wasn't that surprising, not all of the clans put such a heavy emphasise on being able to get by anywhere in the galaxy as D'Ordinii did, so there was less focus on learning the major trade languages well enough to use readily.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Mar 26, 2015 13:25:25 GMT -8
The boy arched an eyebrow sardonically, an expression that was way beyond his years. With a nonchalant shrug he ran the whetstone down the blade with a shriek of friction, his action one smooth motion that spoke to the practice he'd had with such things.
"Dar verde..."
He repeated the words with obvious skepticism as he brought the whetstone up to his face to spit of it before returning it to the base of his weapon. He paused there a moment again, gaze once more returning to the three newcomers, settling on the one that had spoken. His eyes drifted over the blue armour, settling on the device imprinted on the knee guard.
"Meh gar sirbur bid, alor'ad..."
{{If you say so, captain...}}
The whetstone whispered down the blade once again as the boy finished before returning to the top and repeating the journey. Pausing again the child ran a thumb carefully along the edge, nodding his approval. Unfolding his legs in one fluid motion he stood, the whetstone disappearing into a puch somewhere and the blade sliding into a sheath that appeared to be made out of discarded gun holsters.
Stepping lightly off the edge the boy landed in a crouch and ambled over to the armoured men, all easy confidence and swagger, hand resting on the hilt of his little sword.
"Ni liser tengaanar gar at Gorun?
{{I can take you to Goran?}}
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Mar 26, 2015 13:41:19 GMT -8
-Luce (in Mando'a)
Only if Goran is a merchant.
Luce didn't bother correcting the address the child used. Technically he wasn't the one in charge for the mission. Then again all three of them had roughly the same rank, if such a term could be applied to their situation. The only reason he was taking the lead was he was most familiar with the things the ship needed, as well as the fuels that would run through it best. Of course, even if they didn't have any luck, there were at least three other groups doing more or less the same thing on other nearby planets. The Kauti Rose was lurking safely in the deep void between planets, where it would be nearly impossible for someone to stumble onto it.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Mar 26, 2015 14:06:20 GMT -8
The child cocked his head to the left as he stared up at the man in the blue armour, struggling to understand what he meant. Finally he shrugged and gestured vaguely to the south. His voice was indifferent, suggesting that he thought these newcomers odd and a bit dim to be asking questions that ended with little meaning.
"Ni ne suvarir ibac miit..."
{{I don't understand that word...}}
He reached up his right hand to swipe a stray bit of hair out of his eyes and shrugged again.
"Gorun ganar kebise... Gorun kar'taylir kebise...."
{{Gorun has things... Gorun knows things...}}
The boy shrugged a third time and turned away, striding purposefully towards the hangar doors that would take them into the base proper, speaking over his shoulder as he went.
"Gar copaanir kebise gar haa'taylir Gorun."
{{You want things you see Gorun.}}
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Mar 26, 2015 14:24:34 GMT -8
Before follow the somewhat odd child, Luce decided to check with the others.
-Luce (in Sy Bisti)
Sounds like this Gorun character is a trader & info merchant of some kind. Shall we follow our local guide?
After considering their options, the other two nodded consent. True, it might end up being a waste of time. On the other hand, Concord Dawn was a fairly backwater world so it was possible everyone on the planet was like the strange child. Before the child had made it to the hanger doors, the trio was heading to follow him.
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Cayne
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Post by Cayne on Mar 26, 2015 15:14:18 GMT -8
The boy led them out of the hangar and out into the spaceport of Jai'galaar, a sprawling complex that served as Concord Dawn's primary port. While it appeared to be rustic and crude on the surface a trained eye could tell that beneath the shabby exterior lurked a well built and high tech fortress. Concordians held the majority here though a lot of them were not armoured like the men following behind the dark-haired buy. The warriors of Clan Vhett were mostly to the north of the spaceport, up where it joined up with the base itself. This area was reserved for the civilians and offworlders to ply their trade. Farmers from the southern lands traded their wares with merchants from other systems, mainly using a bartering system that swapped goods for goods. Again the attentive eye would notice that while it seemed like a thousand other spaceports there was a martial aspect here that lay simmering underneath the bustling surface. Cold eyed gazes and the occasional armoured form gave testimony to the fact that Jai'galaar controlled all incoming and outgoing flights, monitoring everything in the system. Reprisals for the aborted crusade had been expected and the hatches had been well and truly battened down for the coming storm that still hadn't materialised. Perhaps never would.
The undercurrent of control was subtle but present to those that knew where to look, the deceit not so much intentional as manufactured due to the influx of trade and normality, perhaps an evolution from strict military protocol to a proper trade center for the planet.
Like the spaceport around him the boy that preceded the three offworlders into the teeming metropolis also appeared to be more than he seemed. He knew everyone; from joking with an old woman who was selling some kind of pastry from a cart, cajoling a morsel from her as he passed, to exchanging insults with a savage looking man in battered armour, the think Concordian dialect flashing between them so fast that all the three newcomers could do was pick out a word every now and then. The kid swaggered this way and that, not seeming to be set on any clear destination, but weaving his way down the streets as if on his own business.
It was likely getting to a point where his charges may have been contemplating stopping him and questioning his motives when he stopped outside a prefabricated building of a dull grey hue. There was a sign outside but the words were so faded that one could barely make out the letters at all. The best that could be done was that there was once something written on the plasteel rectangle and they may once have made sense...
"Olar mhi motir...
{{Here we are...}}
He motioned laconically at the building before turning to shoe another child away, this one several years younger it seemed. The savage stream of words that flew from the older boys mouth was accompanied by a kick to the rump that sent to smaller child scurrying away.
"Ratiin kebburise par idiots....
{{Always trying for fools...}}
He muttered the words under his breath before shaking his head and flashing a lopsided grin at his charges and gesturing again to the building..
"Goruns yaim. Rejorhaa'ir Jaro vaii gar.."
{{Goruns place. Tell him Jaro sent you...}}
With that the boy called Jaro flashed them a casual salute and wandered off into the stream of bodies making their way through the spaceport, leaving them standing outside what appeared to be an emporium of sorts.
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Mar 31, 2015 9:28:36 GMT -8
Luce & both of his companions did notice the martial underpinnings of the spaceport, which did a fair bit to reassure them that this was in fact a mando world. The urchin was starting to get fairly annoying as he was leading them less in a line & more in a meandering spiral that sometimes looped back on itself. Eventually however they reached what would seem to be their destination. Before the strange boy could wander off, the figure in the grey EOD armour flipped a low denomination cred chip to him.
A few moments later, after the boy was gone, the three figures made their way into the building. When they were framed in the door would be the best time for an ambush, so the grey armoured figure led the way into the store.
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Apr 1, 2015 6:07:01 GMT -8
The prefabricated building was the same colour on the inside as it was on the outside, that colour being a dull, neutral grey. At nearly fifty meters square, stretching slightly longer the way the three visitors were facing, the room that they found themselves in couldn't have taken up more than a third of that space, and was bare to the point of being empty. A single lonely desk with a single lonely man seated with his feet up was the only thing of interest. That and the wicked looking shotgun he cradled in his lap, the business end pointed directly at the doorway. He was a big man, probably standing well of six foot when upright, and seemed to possess a heavy build though it was difficult to tell beneath the archaic armour he wore. It was a thing of flared shoulder guards and tapered vambraces, no two pieces matching, a riotous collage of colour and type. The mans face peeked from behind a huge steepled breastplate that came high enough to cover his mouth, a nasty scar running up through the right socket where an eye once lurked. His hair fell in a long braid that nearly touched the floor in his reclined position.
His left eye was fixed on the three figures as they walked in, briefly flickering over each figure in turn. Despite the seemingly relaxed posture he seemed to possess the tensed readiness of a coiled spring and the barrel of the shotgun moved ever so slightly with his one-eyed gaze, targeting each man in turn before settling on a neutral position... on the man in the middle.
"Dush kemir, burcy'ase..."
{{Wrong way, friends...}}
His eye drifted off of them to settle somewhere above them to the right. The shotgun remained firmly fixed at the centre of the centremost figures chest.
"Keldabe chaashya gaht."
{{Citadels further north.}}
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Apr 2, 2015 9:05:23 GMT -8
-Luce (in Mando'a)
<If we were looking for the Citadels we wouldn't be looking in prefab buildings.>
The three of them weren't overly worried. One of the things drilled into each member of D'Ordinii in basic was that armed people came in three major types. The first was prey, the second was predator, & the third was killers. Prey people tended to be more jumpy than the man sitting behind the desk. Judging from his armour the three of them were fairly certain that the man was more of a predator than a killer. A predator would go for body shots & the intimidation factor of his weapon to carry the fight. The three of them however weren't here for a fight, from a weapon that size, especially one that wasn't an energy weapon, a body shot would likely not be fatal. That would give them time to clear out & find someone else. Or chuck a few grenades back into the room if Ven had his way. The one in the grey EOD armour spoke next.
-Ven (in Mando'a)
<We are looking for Gorun. Either you are him or I get to track down that Juro kid for wasting our time.>
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Apr 3, 2015 9:49:52 GMT -8
The one-eyed man snorted out a bark of laughter and shifted in his seat slightly to the accompaniment on an alarming creak from the chair. It didn't look like it would survive under the weight of his impressive frame and would likely buckle should another shift of position occur. The shotgun didn't waver though the menace seemed to ease slightly as the man spoke.
"Nu draar..."
{{No chance...}}
The rumble of laughter came again, once again chorused by the strangled death throes of the wicker chair as it continued its torturous expiry. The one eye closed for a moment before returning to study the three figures a bit more intently.
"Ibac khi osik naysol werdla par gar."
{{That little shits far too slippery for you.}}
He stopped and once again drew his gaze up and to the right, seeming to be waiting for something. The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time as the one-eyed guards attention was elsewhere, awaiting some kind of confirmation. The hidden cam in the top corner of the room watched on silently until a voice sounded in the man's ear.
With a grunt he waved his free hand towards the single door behind the desk.
"Slanar bat, burc'ya."
{{Go ahead, friend.}}
The door seemed to swing open at his words, an archaic hinged device of hardened wood. Beyond a corridor extended a short distance before opening up in what appeared to be a store room of some sort. Heavy duty shelves lined an aisle that appeared to be one of three, all bisecting a middle aisle that ran across their path. The ceiling was lost on the gloom of the area, the weak glowpanels at chest-height insufficient to light the room adequately. The room was eerily quiet and empty, only the sound they made entering breaking the stillness.
A being leaned casually against the shelves, almost lost in the dimness, his dark clothing seeming to blend him into the shadows. Two conical horns sprouted from his head and his pale features seemed to leap out from the darkness, making it look as if there was just a head floating there in front of them. The Devaronians pointed teeth held a foul smelling cigar clamped between them, the smoke curling up around his face adding to the demonic aspect that his features and the scene gave to him.
"So... More fish hooked in by the prodigal son I see.
The basic was lightly accented compared to the garbled tongues they had heard so far on their trip from the hangar to this unlikely looking emporium. The smile was predatory and did little to inspire confidence in a prospective customer...
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Apr 7, 2015 8:10:36 GMT -8
-Luce
Careful, some fish can bite back. Do you actually sell anything or are you just another guard between us & the one we need to speak to?
The question was simple but didn't have any major inflection, nearly enough that it might even be taken as a statement. The three armoured figures looked relaxed, mainly because the dark didn't bother them much. As soon as they had entered the room, all three of them had switched on their low-light conditions display in their HUDs, something that was as natural to breathing to the residents of a ship nearly three thousand years old & always in need of repair. There was no external difference, but to the D'Ordinii clansmen, the room was as brightly lit as if the ceiling had been removed.
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Corr
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Post by Corr on Apr 8, 2015 15:18:50 GMT -8
The needle sharp teeth grew even more pronounced as the Devaronian smiled wider at the threat inherent in the man's statement. Pushing off from where he had been leaning and opening his arms in a non-threatening gesture the horned being chuckled softly at their question, deciding it was a question despite the implied rhetoric, watching the fourth wall tremble slightly at this sentence.
"Well that would depend on what you'd be wanting to buy I guess..."
His arms came back to a neutral position, still moving slowly so as not to antagonise these obviously hostile guests. Finally, as if having travelled light years to get there, his arms folded themselves over his chest.
"If I have not what you need then perhaps I am only a middle man, eh?"
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Post by Aya D'Ordinii on Apr 9, 2015 6:15:50 GMT -8
-Luce
We are looking for reactor coolant. GXN-695 or GXP-884. As well as a large supply of various spare parts.
The coolants in question were older, much older than the current brands popular. Designed for the older style conversion plants that had for the most part gone out of fashion more than a thousand years ago. The coolants were still in minor demand however due to the fact that some still used them, as their main benefit over the much more powerful hypermatter generators was that they could be refuelled by parking near pretty much any star in the galaxy. For the second part of the statement, Luce held up a datapad, & made a little flicking gesture with it indicating that seemed to be asking permission to toss it to the Devaronian. After all, Luce understood that randomly throwing things at black market figures tended to end in violence. Even from several paces it would be obvious that it was displaying a rather large list of parts.
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Corr
Member
You can lead a fool to knowledge but you can't make him think.
Posts: 940
Affiliation: Clan Vhett
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Post by Corr on Apr 12, 2015 12:15:03 GMT -8
Dipping his horned head slightly to indicate he was happy to receive the datapad the Devaronian unfolded his arms in time to catch the lobbed 'pad, casting a red-eyed gaze over the screen as he took a step forward to allow the light a little more purchase on his pale red skin. Seen a bit better now they could see that the devilish creature had a slight burn scar on the lower right side of his face, just along the jawline. Two heavy-looking gold hoops adorned each ear, drawing the lobes low. His horns were highly polished and seemed to have several different types of gemstones grafted into their base in a spiraling pattern. His clothes too were of an expensive weave, adding to the appearance of some celebrity pirate from some fictional tale.
The significantly modified, and highly illegal, DX-2 Disruptor Pistol at his right hip was not so fictional.
"I can supply most of the parts you need..."
His voice murmured the words as his eyes continued to study the details, roving back and forth along the lines of information.
"The coolant may be a bit more difficult. Not much call for such redundant product these days and most plants that manufacture it are either dangerous or not worth the cost to maintain..."
He pursed his lips over his nightmare teeth and lifted his eyes from the datapad to look at the ceiling as he pondered the request. Finally when he spoke his voice was speculative.
"Most of the ships that would require such a coolant have been retrofitted to apply a more modern gas but... I know someone who managed to run one of those old systems on non-sealed Tibanna. Worked pretty well and was much easier to get hold of. Problem with that is it would require me to circumvent the military types up at the base..."
His teeth returned as he flashed a sinister smile at the three. He pulled a datapad of his own from a pocket on his fancy attire, gesturing to indicate he wanted to copy the list.
"As it happens I have a situation that could benefit from your participation. Perhaps we can help each other out, no?"
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Corr Vhett - puts the "Laughter" in "Manslaughter"..... 
