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Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Apr 9, 2013 10:07:28 GMT -8
Hutt Castle, often simply called Jabba the Hutt's Palace after its owner, was a large sandrock and durasteel complex located at the fringes of the Northern Dune Sea on the planet of Tatooine. Originally erected as a monastery of the B'omarr Order, the buildings eventually fell into the hands of two major crimelords: first an outcast and gang leader called Alkhara and later Jabba the Hutt, a notorious crime lord from Nal Hutta.
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
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Post by Dragus on Apr 21, 2013 13:24:26 GMT -8
The doors to Jabba's palace were thrown open with a loud resounding whoosh. Riding in from the fierce desert heat was a one eyed ewok, Lil'Bacca was his name. Beneath the stout forest dweller was the ewok's faithful steed, Kermit the dragon slug. The duo charged into the old abandoned palace, bounding from one dust covered tile to the next.
"Ribbet!" Burped Kermit, causing a flicker of flame to erupt from his mouth, scorching the floor in their wake.
Courageously, Lil'Bacca leaped from the back of Kermit, landing atop the dried slime throne of the long forgotten Jabba. The galaxy's cutest partially blind Ewok then spun on his heel, turning to face his steed, which by now had stopped in front of the throne. Well, it was more of a repulsor sled than a throne, but that hardly mattered. The important thing was that the long sought after relic was found, left behind by the scavengers that came in the wake of ROTJ. Dropping down to all fours, Lil'Bacca removed a stone tipped knife from his belt, then proceeded to carve his initials into the throne.
Thirty seconds later and the deed was done. Mission Accomplished. His act of vandalism etched into history forever and ever, or as long as the slime crusted slate remained, Lil'Bacca hopped back onto the shoulders of Kermit. Patting the dragon slug on the back, the Ewok set his mount to hopping. Hop-hop-hippity-hop!
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X
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Post by X on May 12, 2014 13:53:09 GMT -8
Silence and stillness, that was all to be found in this desolate place. A place once held by beings of great power and influence, now reduced to a near-forgotten tomb in the great Dune Sea. Silence, save perhaps the echo of fading memories that rung throughout the darkened corridors of this once great palace. The lone figure quietly reading ancient manuscripts under dim candlelight briefly took note of this before returning to his books. For this man, silence was the least of his worries. It had come to pass for the man once known by Itachi X and Carmine, that deterioration of his body was soon to become a very real possibility.
Ashur as he now called himself, looked up from his books and into the overwhelming darkness that surrounded him. "Annoying", he thought as he realized the inconvenience of using a taxing technique such as soul transference on a regular basis. Perhaps for someone as idiotic as the former Darth Sidious it would be a viable option, but not for him, Ashur would have far too many things on his agenda to take care of.
"I need some air." Ashur said as he stood up, slowly making his way out of the room.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 7, 2016 0:43:26 GMT -8
Mig looked down at the Palace. The scouts had found nothing else both close enough & large enough to house the Sand Lightning Jawa Clan. There were stories that told of an evil hutt that had ruled this whole area from the multi-towered fortified structure. That had been generations ago. Now it was the haunt of a minor collection of criminals. Spice growers that had installed a secure freighter hanger as a new wing of the already expansive compound.
Right now, though, Mig was more focused on something much smaller than the mighty castle. Walking up to the front gate was a single unmounted warboy. Only Mig on his custom bike floated in the sky, watching from afar with a pair of macrobinoculars. Mig knew the plan. The warboy would deliver an ultimatum, leave the palace now or die. Mig hoped it wouldn't come to that, but if needed the Clan would smash the relatively small number of spice growers.
Below, the warboy reached the gate & slammed his fist against it to draw the attention of those within. For a moment, Mig could only watch as the warboy delivered the message to the gatekeeper. The response was unfortunate, but expected. A small cannon extended from a slot beside the door & fired on the lone jawa. The blinding flash of light that followed was far more powerful than any small cannon could have produced. It was however, a reasonable blast size for a lone jawa weighted down with a heavy but hidden vest of powerful explosives rigged to detonate on being hit by an energetic strike.
Mig had to blink the spots from his eyes. Once he could focus again, he spotted the gate standing open from the force of the blast. The sound of the explosion had also been the cue for the roughriders & other warboys to begin the assault on the palace. The two M-ETT war rigs came flying in low from further into the mountain range, nearly the opposite direction that the defenders would expect to be attacked from. Flying too low for the anti-air to target, they were even occasionally dragging their tracks along the face of the ridge. At the same time, dozens of bikes filled the air in every direction. Anti-air began to fire, but had little to no effect on the small agile targets. Swooping quickly in to the central tower, warboys jumped screaming from the back of bikes & managed to secure the weapon platforms there before the spicers even fully realized they were under attack.
Mig still hadn't moved. He had no part in the planning of this assault. He had just approved it after the Docs hashed it out. He simply didn't have the head to handle the head stuff like that. But this point the two M-ETTs had pulled into position, hull guns laying down fire into the few defenders just beginning to emerge from the fort. One had sailed straight into the hanger bay, warboys spilling out of the massive craft to secure the multiple freighters docked there. The other had settled to the ground outside the now ruptured main gate, pouring warboys directly into the throat of the beast.
Now it was time for Mig to move in. Gunning his engine, Mig dived straight at the main tower at full speed. The anti-air took a few pot shots at him, but they missed the small target. Sweeping in for a grinding halt, Mig managed to land his bike on the promenade around the crest of the main tower. Drawing his pistols, Mig followed the trail already cut by his warboys. A few rooms later & Mig emerged on another promenade, this one on the inside of the tower. Mig let out a low whistle as he gazed down into the massive chamber fill with fluttering banners slowly spinning above racks upon racks of some sort of jars. He could see warboys from the front gate already checking the maze of racks for spicers hiding. Across the way, on the far side of the promenade, a spicer fell to his death after being thrown over the railing by a quartet of warboys.
There was little fight. The spicers had been too secure in their defences to be ready to fight back. They had grown soft away from the desert. Mig would have to keep a close watch to keep that from happening to his people as well. In truth, the hanger had been the hottest part of the fight. The crews of the freighters there had put up a heavy defence, one of the craft had even managed to scrape by the war rig & escape. Four freighters had been captured, but no without heavy damage. The vehicles, War Rigs included, had been moved to the massive vehicle bays below the fort. Silver had proved too large to fit into the hanger & had parked by the front gate. Crews of warpups & warboys were already hard at work repairing the damage inflicted by the attack.
Mig walked through the chamber filled with the strange jars. Each was filled with strange, foul tasting fluid & a strange lump of flesh. Row after row of them. The room gave Mig a weird feeling, like he was being watched by countless eyes. It was the jars he was sure, but he didn't want to damage them. They were obviously valuable, fortunately a number of chambers in the lower level of the fort would prove a useful storage space for the jars according to some of the scouts still scouring the castle for any hiding spicers. Yes, this would be a safe place, no to keep from getting addicted to it.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Feb 21, 2016 8:35:05 GMT -8
Mig smiled looking down into the massive central chamber that had come to be called the Chapel of Sand by many of the clan. The racks of what he had been informed where brains of some time had been moved into several storage areas much deeper in the maze of the under palace area. Even now, after almost two weeks, scouts were still trying to map the extensive network of tunnels & chambers. Mig had picked a small room near where he had first set foot in the palace, near the top of the central tower. Partly because he liked the view from both the internal & the external promenades & because there were still things lurking in the lower reaches of the palace. One of those things had been persistent reports of giant spiders.
Bringing himself back to the moment, Mig leaded against the railing overlooking the Chapel. Below Preacher Thatch was leading much of the assembled clan in worship. As always, the service had started out with a story from the book. Today it had been the tale of three amigos. After which he had begun speaking on the various points & things shown in the story. Little of his speech reached this far up, as a sound amplification system hadn't been finished yet. A few of the more energetic parts would echo up though.
-Preacher Thatch
CAN I GET AN UTINNI?!
-Clan
UTINNI!
Leaving the rest of the clan to their worship, Mig decided to head down to the vehicle bays. His own bike was parked just outside his room, but he liked to keep up to date on the state of the general state of things. On arrival, he wasn't surprised to find the remainder of the clan that wasn't assigned to one task or other currently in the massive tunnel working on their mounts. Alcoves ran both sides of the tunnel, some large enough to park war rigs while others could barely fit two bikes. a few were low enough to walk right into, but the majority had to be reached using stairs carved into the walls. All three of the clan's war rigs had some work or other being done. Preacher Thatch had decided to have his Survey-class fitted with a massive external sound system in addition to the repulsors. From what Mig understood, it was mainly to be able to better preach while the clan was out in force.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2016 11:52:07 GMT -8
The massive convoy made their careful way up the mountainous path to the Palace. As the speeders & war rigs made their way into the massive vehicle bay off to one side, the Silver lifted its massive cargo higher to crest over the ridge line that hid the landing pad from view of the road. After setting the wrecked corvette to one side, there was barely enough room left over for the Silver itself to settle down. By the time the Silver had finished settling to the ground, all seven of the clan Docs were already pouring over the wreck, checking to see how much could be salvaged or if the ship itself could be refitted.
Down in the vehicle bay, the Roughriders were unloading the salvage at the far end before maneuvering their mounts back to their individual spots. Most of the Roughriders would be occupied for the next long while with checking over their mounts carefully. Custom built & refitted vehicles such as was universal in the clan required a nearly constant amount of attention, especially in such a harsh environment. Already being moved from the salvage pile deeper into the Palace for dismantling were a pair of life pods, though no other survivors were apparent.
The guest was led down to what had, at one point, been a throne room. Now however, the area that had been a dais was now a very well stocked bar. It, along with the mechanic shops & the central tower, was one of the most often visited & crowded places in the palace. Having been informed of their guest, Mig, defacto leader of the clan, had headed down to get a drink. The air was thick with a cloying haze of smoke, as most of the jawas in the room were smoking something or other.
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Tal Renning
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Post by Tal Renning on Jun 11, 2016 14:51:19 GMT -8
Tal had been contemplating his move for some time, letting the rumble of the engines put him in a near trance state. He felt the ground change beneath them, angling upwards into the mountains a little ways. He heard a bustle and managed to catch just a glimpse of what had been the "Occam" being maneuvered into position. As the convoy seemed to filter in, his ride stopped. He waited a couple of minutes, that's when a few of the "Warboys' had come in, ushering him out without so much as a peep. It made sense to Tal that not all of them had translators, besides, if his memory served him these creatures were mostly scrappers. He shouldered his small pack, his eyes bouncing from one direction to another. It was so foreign to him, having come from the Republic and now to this desert world. He breathed a sigh of relief, he hadn't been so sure how much farther he would have made it on his own.
It seemed to him that they were definitely leading him somewhere. He took his sleeve and attempted to wipe some of the dried blood and dirt from his face, managing to get some, the rest just smeared. Well, this was going to be interesting. As they continued deeper into the palace, he watched as the bustle seemed to increase here. The chirping of the Jawas to each other, strange smells assaulted his nostrils, and strange sounds found purchase in his ears. He shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear any remaining cobwebs. It helped a little bit, but mostly hurt, a small cut on his forehead beginning to throb, a dull pain in his head forming the beginning of a headache.
*I'll have to see about getting some water... I can tell I'm dehydrated.*
Tal forced a smile and kept following, looking down the hallways and passages, absorbing all the information he could from his surroundings. As they approached the end of one of the hallways, a large space opened up into a room. It looked like it may have been a throne room ages ago but now it was something else. Tal had seen what looked like parts stalls, a few food vendors, and even a few shops that looked like repair shops on his way here but now before him was a bar. He could see muti-colored bottles filled with varied liquids on shelves, Jawas all about. He saw a few droids out and about as well but they all seemed busy performing tasks. As he looked towards the bar, it appeared that's where the Jawas had wanted him to go. As he got closer, the air seemed to cloud, various smoking devices in use, some looked like strange hookahs, others he couldn't place. A few Jawas he saw even appeared to be smoking death-sticks, a glowing ember shining from beneath the cowl of more than a few hoods.
He approached the bar, hoping that they had water. He'd run out much earlier in the day and the suns of Tatooine hadn't been kind. His face was flushed, a nice sunburn starting to form on his outer layer of skin. He approached the bar, attempting to get the attention of the bartender. He spoke, his voice dry and hoarse.
"Hey... Do you have any water?"
He stood, not fully sure that he had been understood.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 11, 2016 15:22:16 GMT -8
Mig smiled under his beaded hat. The human that had been found lost in the Dune Sea had stopped right by where he was sitting, smoking of his thick crystal laced rolls. motioning to the bartender, a stout glass appeared shortly in front of the man, followed by a stone bottle of water. He let the man get a few good drinks before talking with the man. Careful enough observation would reveal hints of a metal lower jaw, mostly hidden beneath the curtain of beads hanging from his hat.
-Mig
Outlander. Yur either very lucky or very unlucky today. On one hand yur alive. On the other yur ship is wrecked & yur crew is dead. One can't help but wonder what's goin' through yur head.
Unofficial as it was, Mig prefered to have meetings in the bar instead of some overly fancy office or throne room. It just seemed closer to the Way of Sand. It also had the benefit of being far more comfortable & nearly dead centre of the sprawling compound that was the Palace. From the deep mines below to the towers above.
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Tal Renning
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Post by Tal Renning on Jun 13, 2016 11:15:57 GMT -8
Tal reached out and quickly poured himself a class of water from he stone bottle, drinking the glass' contents like a man dying of thirst. He finished two more before pausing, and looking to his left. His eyes widened as the Jawa spoke. He nodded and set the glass down before responding.
"Yeah, I sure am feeling pretty lucky... If the group here hadn't found me... I can't say I'd have made it much longer out in the wastes, in my condition."
Truthfully, he was feeling anything but lucky. He'd managed to go from a Republic Communications Officer, to a Hostage, and now... he was simply surviving. The world was so different from any he'd been on before. Sure, he'd seen deserts, but not like this. The heat, the dryness. Everything was tough here, from the wildlife and locals to even the plant life.
Tal wasn't sure exactly what the custom of greeting here, but he figured it couldn't hurt to be polite.
"My name's Tal, as you can guess, used to be a spacer, that ship wasn't mine though. I just worked on her. Now... I don't know what now. What can I call you?"
Tal observed the Jawa, noticing his surroundings a little more in detail. This place, it looked pretty cohesive. The people here definitely weren't just random scrappers, there seemed to be some real organization to this place. He started to wonder who this one talking to him was, so far, there had been only a small number who had actually spoken to him.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jun 13, 2016 19:35:47 GMT -8
Mig nods & takes another draw from his cigar. There was plenty worse things to be found by in the wastes. Much worse.
-Mig
Tatooine is not a place for the soft or the weak. It will swallow you whole if you let it. Most humans can't pronounce my name, just call me Mig. What now is just the question you should be asking. It says a lot about you that you are asking it. Less that you can't answer. The real important questions you should be trying to answer is: 'What do I want' & 'what do I have'.
Mig takes a moment to down a shot of something that looked vaguely like blood & was actively trying to crawl out of the glass it was in.
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Tal Renning
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Post by Tal Renning on Jun 14, 2016 9:49:25 GMT -8
Tal's eyes narrowed as 'Mig' took another draw on his cigar. There was something about him that drew his attention. He listened carefully as he spoke, his eyes drifting as he thought about what was being said. Truth be told, he didn't know "What now". He frowned at the question Mig had ended with. Tal looked at him, contemplating.
"What do I want?... I used to know what it was I wanted, but now, everything's changed. What do I want right now? I couldn't tell you. What do I want out of the future? To go home. I was born on Corellia, and it is there I know I must return. Between here and there though... is a long way."
He paused, reaching for the glass and emptying it before continuing.
"What do I have?" He shook his head. "I have nothing, just this." He shrugged his pack.
"I've been told I'm good with electronics... so I'm not entirely unskilled if we aren't just talking about the tangible things I have."
He sighed. The gravity of his situation had started to set in. He was alone in the wide universe, he no longer had the backing of a major faction or a unit behind him, and he didn't owe allegiance to any faction but his home. He was now adrift in the big bad world, like a raft in a rough sea. Where the wind would take him, no one knew.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2016 11:08:33 GMT -8
Mig thought about it for a while. On one hand, he had no clue where Corellia was, or even how far away it was. On the other hand, this person would have a much better grasp of the salvaged ship's systems, with his help the work would go much quicker.
-Mig
Right, I have a deal for you. You work for my clan for a bit. Help us fix up the ship that crashed. In return we will get you home. One way or another. Sound fair?
Mig let him ponder that for a bit before revealing the other possible path.
-Mig
Otherwise, you stick around here until we make our next run into Eisley. There is a starport there. Might be hard to find a ride, but it is possible.
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Tal Renning
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Post by Tal Renning on Jun 16, 2016 11:12:28 GMT -8
Tal's eyes lit up when Mig suggested that he might be able, and willing, to provide transportation for him back to Corellia. He thought about it for a moment. He didn't really have anywhere to go, or have anywhere to be. He figured he might even be able to come out ahead if he helped. As Mig spoke about Mos Eisley, he hesitated. While he didn't have anywhere to be, he did want to go home... but the authorities... chances were they'd already started alerting family of the incident. He couldn't afford to show up a few days later, they'd have him in custody in a cinch! He smiled at Mig, a determined look on his rather dirty face.
"I'm in Mig, I'll tell you what. I'll help you out as best I can, as long as you're willing to hold up your end of the bargain. I could use the work to keep my mind off of things for a while, and I certainly knew the ship there, she was called the "Occam". I wonder if any of my things survived the crash."
He poured himself the remainder of the water in from the bottle, sipping it as he savored the smooth taste.
"I'd love to start working right away, but I should probably clean up a bit, I could use some clean clothes. Any idea on how I might be able to get some? I get the feeling these Republic uniforms aren't exactly high fashion around these parts."
He waited for a response, genuinely feeling like he might have a hope. His body was tired and now he started to feel the true soreness and fatigue the crash landing and travel had caused. He hoped he'd be able to find a decent set of clothing... the people around here were a little on the short side.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2016 11:47:48 GMT -8
From Mig's understanding, the looting of the ship was well underway, though it likely hadn't reached the crew quarters yet. The focus after all was more on parts than possessions.
-Mig
We can certainly go & gather your things from your bunk on the ship. As for getting cleaned up & rested, we will have to get you a room in the central tower. That is where most of the quarters are. We don't really have anything in your size, but I figure we can put something together using the stores from the ship. As for the previous name of the ship, I'm informed that the engines are all shot. We might be able to salvage the frames & some parts, but the majority of it is scrap. The Occam is dead.
Of course, depending on how bad the rest of the damage was, they might be able to get it flying again by cannibalizing the Silver to rebuilt it. In which case it would take the name of the more functional of the two ships, the Silver. After downing one more shot of the crawling liquid, Mig stands & heads toward the Palace's sunken landing pad. Tal was expected to follow as Mig wasn't one much for issuing orders.
The landing pad was actually fairly large able to, just barely, hold both the Silver & the Occam. Above was the retractable dome for the pad. It was usually kept open, but a sand storm was beginning to stir outside & that would slow down the work it left down. Off to one side was a large gate leading into the warren of warehouses & storerooms. A quarter turn around the outer wall was another large gate & tunnel leading to the vehicle bay. Activity in vehicle bay had a certain frantic pace to it as the war rigs attempted to unload as quickly as possible before racing off again. The sandstorm would slow down massively the looting of the transport that had crashed down in the mountains west of the palace, as the war rigs would have to resort to the much slower treads instead of their repulsors. The cargo crates being shifted from the vehicle bay to the warehouses passes right along one edge of the landing pad. While it wasn't obvious from the unremarkable exteriors, the crates were stuffed with decommissioned & disassembled TIE fighters. Nearly a thousand had been on the transport.
Compared to that madness of activity, the Occam was positively tame. Three of the clan Docs, those leaders/elders that specialized in fields of knowledge, were directing their personal retinues about various tasks. Two were checking the state of the ship & deciding the best way to go about salvaging it. The third was collecting the remains of the crew for burial & services. The bodies wouldn't be wasted, but the clan did have a certain about of ceremony & respect before sending them down to the hydroponics areas deep below the Palace. Mig waved Tal toward the main ramp of the ship, content to allow him to lead the way.
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Nartaga
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Post by Nartaga on Jun 17, 2016 13:50:43 GMT -8
Kal'Shor slowed his speeder down as the sandstorm picked up around him. He lamented leaving the vehicle outside for anyone to find but he did not want to run the risk of slamming into any rocks or Suns forbid the side of the Palace itself. After turning off the speeder and grabbing everything he could carry off it onto his back, he threw a sand colored tarp over the speeder and secured it as best as he could and continued his way towards the Palace. The sandstorm was starting to hit hard.
The Dunewalker shook sand from his goggles and pulled a torch from his back and lit it, holding it aloft. The sand and wind hit hard against the fire of the torch, but it would be visible to anyone looking hard enough. The Tusken wanted to announce his presence long before it became an issue of him venturing into another clan's territory. Most Jawas were nowhere near as territorial as Tusken in Kal'Shor's experience, but having a Tusken walk straight to the heart of your clan was not something many were used to.
Kal'Shor reached out with his free hand and felt his hand touch the wall of the Palace. Feeling his way around, Kal'Shor found his way to the main door of the Palace, and simply knocked.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2016 14:36:20 GMT -8
The Jawas had spotted the lone craft well before it even reached the sensor net. A lone roughrider had noticed it while hunkering down to wait out the coming sandstorm. It had already reached the Palace so it was easier to just wait here until it passed & have plenty of time to prep for it, than have a pointless race & then be stuck unprepared. He had taken a moment to call in the sighting before returning to his preparations.
Further in, the speeder crossed into the range of the sensor net. Eventually, the craft was overwhelmed by the sandstorm & forced to stop. The location of the craft was easy enough to keep track of, just in case it needed to be salvaged if the lone figure turned out to be hostile. The closer the figure got to the Palace, the more sensor systems they showed up on, even in the middle of a sandstorm. Eventually, the figure made its way around to the main gate. As soon as he knocked, the small side door built into the door sprang open & the jawas within called out to the figure. There was no point in letting the sandstorm enter the Palace as well, & the side gate had an entrance chamber that would function much like an airlock if it had been airtight. Waiting just inside the second door was Sheriff Deangelo, the Elder that had taken over the defense of the Palace.
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Nartaga
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Post by Nartaga on Jun 17, 2016 15:49:59 GMT -8
Kal'Shor turned his head as the door swing open. Extinguishing the torch as he walked in, he could breathe easier when he crossed the threshold of the palace, out of the sandstorm. The Dunewalker looked up and around the entryway of the palace after the door shut behind him. He nodded his head in greeting to the Jawa that was just on the inside of the door, but did not directly address him. Kal'Shor would wait until he was sure he was dealing with a leader among the clan before speaking. Kal'Shor turned as the inner door opened leading further into the palace, if it had not been for a lone Jawa standing in the way. Kal'Shor bowed to the Jawa in respect. Nearly a mountain of sand poured from atop the R'Crurak Dunewalker and onto the floor. He held the bow as he spoke.
-Kal'Shor in Tusken-
"I am Lead Dunewalker Kal'Shor'Rik'Or'Kir'R'Crurak, of the R'Crurak Clan. I have been sent with news from our Council of grave importance."
Kal'Shor held the bow, intending to hold it until he was formally recognized by the Jawa.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2016 18:06:52 GMT -8
The Jawa inside the hallway returned the bow. Most of the Jawas of the Sand Lightning Clan wore drab undecorated clothing, with the occasional brighter piece of clothing mixed in. This Jawa on the other hand had a palm-sized silver logo pinned to one side of it's chest, a six-pointed star.
-Deangelo (in Tusken)
I'm Sheriff Deangelo. I'm in charge of the defense here. I have heard of your Clan. What is this news you bring?
The warboy that been tasked with bring in the visitor out of the storm quickly got to work shoveling up as much of the sand as he could. He was shortly joined by several others. Unlike some of the past occupants, the Sand Lightning clan worked hard to keep as much sand out of the Palace as possible. Mainly in order to keep it from fouling the vast amounts of machinery now present. The Sheriff didn't ignore them so much as step to one side to allow them to work unimpeded.
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Nartaga
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Post by Nartaga on Jun 17, 2016 18:25:08 GMT -8
As the majority of the sand stopped falling from his robes Kal'Shor stood back up to his full height after he was address, which only made more sand fall from his being and onto the ground. Kal'Shor remained silent for a moment as more Jawas filed in to aid in the clean up. He had hoped that he would be granted an audience with the Chieftain, but the clan's defense leader would be just as effective. Still, he was unsure if speaking of the attack in front those not in the leadership was wise.
-Kal'Shor in Tusken-
"The news I came to deliver is..."
Kal'Shor was by no means a diplomat or ambassador. He was a warrior, one of the R'Crurak's best. One did not become leader of the Dunewalkers by second guessing oneself. Kal'Shor made his decision quickly and spoke.
-Kal'Shor in Tusken-
"Outsiders from the settlements staged an assault on the Enclave. Several hundred of them arrived in vehicles and without provocation or warning attacked, targeting our wall and dropping bombs from the sky on our home, our clansmen. Some of the dead are Jawas."
Kal'Shor shifted his feet. Suddenly he felt he had a great amount more of the Sheriff's attention.
-Kal'Shor in Tusken-
"They know where we are, and some got away. It is possible they have been watching us for a while. The Elder sent me to warn you, in case they make a link between our clans and decide to attack you too. We've had reports of other tribes and clans being attacked closer to the Outsider Settlements, but....we still do not know why. Personally I think they may be trying to start a war."
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Deleted
Deleted Member
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2016 18:48:16 GMT -8
The sheriff seems to think about that for a few moments as the warboys continued their task.
-Deangelo (in Tusken)
Hmm, you think they might attack us because of the few times we have made contact. Is it not more likely that they are attacking everyone nearby indiscriminately & that the attack on your Enclave blunted their forces? That aside, do you require assistance in repairs or healing?
It seemed an odd question from a war leader, but all the 'elders' knew each other fairly well. Enough so that they could guess fairly accurately how the others would react. To be perfectly honest, Sand Lightning wasn't one clan. At least not with their leader, Mig, constantly refusing to be acknowledged as the leader. Instead it was more like twelve smaller clans, each run by an elder, with members moving freely from one call to the next to follow the elder with the closest ideology. They might not be physically present, but Deangelo knew at the very least Doc Chop & Preacher Thatch would be interested in offering help. Chop for the chance to examine Tuskens & Thatch for the potential diplomatic benefits.
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