Drowning Old Memories

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The battle had been joined over a small planet, on the outer fringes of the rimward Imperial frontier.
Captain Krayd Hasperre's great fleet had descended on the Imperial dockyard around the planet, their ragtag but coordinated ships diving on the Sith warships lying at their moorings. They struck quickly, and without warning; starfighters crippled their heavy weapons, and the Hasperre fleet's collection of aging capital ships pounded them into scrap metal as the half-crippled hulks sortied to meet them. They belched clouds of TIEs to screen themselves, but it did them little good; the pilots of the Hasperre Gang cut into them like scythes through wheat.
Triter Zone remembered watching it from the cockpit of his fighter, listening to the desperate requests by the Imperial vessels to the planetary defense force for backup against the invaders; no help came, of course, Captain Hasperre had already convinced the planetary government to sit out his attack, letting his forces deal with the hated Imperial forces occupying their world. Their ships could be seen near the planetary horizon, safely out of range and silent on the subspace channels...
It was all too easy.
All too easy.
Had Triter been older, and more experienced, he may have understood that better. The planet was remote, certainly, but the Empire knew better than to leave their borders so incompetently guarded.
It was as the last of the Imperial garrison's ships were left burning in space that everything went to hell.
All of a sudden, dozens of hyperspace signatures lit up Triter's sensor scopes, almost every one of them a Star Destroyer class vessel. They came endlessly, their sheer weight of numbers dwarfing the Hasperre fleet.
Triter remembered what happened next as a blur.
Brave, desperate fighter battles came first, squadrons of pirate starfighters wading into clouds of Imperial TIEs and other small craft. They took down thousands, but eventually, the numberless enemy took its toll, and the fighters were beaten back.
When the capital ships began to fight, broadside to broadside, it was as if mountains had come to spit lightning at one-another. When the first of the star destroyers fell, it bolstered the fleet's confidence a little, but then another came, and another.
There was ultimately no way to stop the duranium continents as they crashed through the formations of the Hasperre fleet.
Triter remembered seeing his wing-men shot out of space around him, remembered the harsh warning tone of an enemy target lock. He whirled and dived, watching helplessly as ships of the fleet were ripped apart by turbolaser fire one after the other. Others, he saw, simply turned and fled.
He remembered a return to Captain Hasperre's ship, his home, coming in for a rough landing in the vessel's hangar. He had joined his Captain on the bridge of the Starkiller, the older Amaran directing the battle with a cool, tense fervor as he tried to salvage something of the forces he had gathered and led to what had become a slaughter.
He remembered, with terrible clarity, the fateful orders.
"Escort squadron! We're going for that interdictor! The rest of you, as soon as the field is down, retreat! All ships, retreat!"
Shortly after, Hasperre had given Triter the order to sortie again, and join the retreating forces. Something about having a better chance in a starfighter than a drifting escape pod. The young Amaran hadn't really understood, but he had obeyed, taking his fighter and fleeing the battlefield for the prearranged rally point.
Before he left, he saw his Captain's ship charge that of the enemy commander, burrowing itself deep in the command tower under a hail of turbolaser bolts.
It was days before the Captain and some of his surviving crew had arrived at the rally point, and by then, the already scant remnants of the fleet had dwindled to almost nothing.
But Triter had waited.
Indeed, it seemed he had never stopped waiting, since that day...

A soft but insistent tone brought Triter up out of the pit of his memories.
It had been over 10 years since that fateful battle, shortly after which he and his mentor, Captain Krayd Hasperre, had finally gone their separate ways. Since then, Triter had grown, making a small name for himself as a freelance brigand fighting for smaller pirate groups, or for the various shipping concerns they preyed upon, depending on the situation. It was a hard life, but he had survived so far, even if he was still young by most standards.
Not as young as his diminutive stature made him look to most races, unfortunately, but the Amaran had learned to get used to that.
Checking his instruments, Triter saw that he was about to come out of hyperspace around his target planet. Stretching as best he could in the cramped cockpit of his starfighter - the same one he had flown all those years ago - he prepared for the reversion, setting his autopilot for the landing on the remote, backwater planet of Kinooine.
He wasn't entirely sure why he was here, aside from needing a place to stop on his long flight where he could get a meal and a decent drink. The planet, he had been told, was home to a small Firrerreo colony, and they would probably have a cantina or two.

The ship left hyperspace, and the landing was uneventful, Triter taking a landing bay at a small spaceport in the planet's southern hemisphere. Stepping out into the dusty street, he wrapped his long cloak around himself, ears flattened back against the wind that had come up, whipping dust against his fur and eyes, which he clenched shut for a a moment. Walking quickly, he made for the nearest cantina, stepping inside and looking around.
I think I could use that drink about now... he thought to himself, noting some of the other patrons as he walked over to the bar.
Scrabbling up onto the tall bar-stool, he rummaged in his pocket, withdrawing a handful of credit chips and dropping them on the bar with a clink.
"Whatever this'll get me; I've had a long flight in a small ship."
The bartender collected the coins, reached under the counter and produced what looked like the cheapest syrspirit Triter had ever seen. That said, it came in a bottle almost half as tall as the young Amaran, which was placed on the bar in front of Triter with a chipped snifter beside it.
Shrugging, Triter picked up the bottle and poured his glass full, taking a sip. As expected, it was practically rotgut, but it relaxed the spacer easily enough.
He sighed, and glanced down at the distinctive silver ring on his right hand.
Maybe this stuff'll help me forget why I still wear this thing...
 
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Noirceur

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Ashkrik watched silently as a strange rodent-like creature he had never seen before, dressed in a long cloak entered the cantina and asked for a
drink. He saw the drink they had given the Amaran. It was cheap. Very cheap. He silently muttered
-"Stupid alien tastes"
 
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Triter's pointed vulpine ear twitched slightly as he drank, hearing someone muttering to themselves from across the cantina about "stupid alien tastes"; setting down his glass, he glanced behind him, noticing the comparatively hulking trandoshan sitting nearby.
Turning, he frowned at the other being, holding up his bottle for emphasis as he spoke.
"Hey, friend; I just ordered a drink, didn't say what kind. When they give you a bottle this big, you tend not to complain about what's in it."
He turned back to the bar, setting down the bottle and raising the snifter to his lips once more.
"What would you prefer I was having?"
 

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Ashkrik stood up and looked down at the small Amaran, studying him with his one yellow eye, and told him in an intimidating tone:

"Talking back to someone like that can get you killed around here, small creature"
 
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"Pick on someone your own size, scaley. The little ones give ya comfidence to pick on, eh?"

Marcus Verlend stood up from the table he sat at, alone. He wore all white clothes covered in dust from the outside of the cantina, the harsh terrain unfrogiving especially to the loose, cloth, long sleeve shirt he wore. His green vest worn ovwr top of the shirt was made of leather, though of whay komd he was never sure; it was a goft from back home before Coruscant was destroyed, along with his childhood home, most likely.

Marcus had decided to lay low until he had recieved word of some sort of rebel cell popped up that he could actually rally towards. Kinooine was a great place to lay low, so far into Wild Space.

He placed his hand on his blaster, squinting at the trandoshan with the eyes of a hawk, born from knowing how to handle a gun since 7 years old. "So why don't you just step on back, no one'll get hurt here or anywhere. Those Amaran's are pretty fiesty, might not even need my help."
 
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Dóiteán

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Having landed on the planet in his J-15B Aethersprite, Maxx walked in the cantina and ordered a drink. The gunslinger was wearing his usual gear, his pistols in plain site. He was listening intently to what was going on around him. He didn't live this long without knowing the tricks of staying alive. Combined with what he learned from the retrade, though few knew about them, Maxx was a dangerous man.
 

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He rimmed the glass with his finger tips, watching as the perspiration trickled down side of the glass before him. It was warm and muggy in this hell hole and that's how Gabriel liked it. Tonight held a different kind of crowd which made the aged loner all the more wary of his surroundings; before he knew it, there was trouble. Maybe it was the Reactor Core that he had just downed moments prior, but Gabriel slid from his seat and walked himself into the fray.

"Maybe you shouldn't be so feisty yourself, friend."

His face without expression save for the raising of a brow was all that Gabriel offered. Squared away and his left foot forward, he moved not an inch closer. This place was all that he knew for some time and the mere thought of someone trashing the place over a simple exchange of words was more than he could handle on this night.
 

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Triter let out a long sigh, setting down his drink as he listened to the trouble start to gather behind him. Turning, he saw no less than three humans raise their voices in his defense. Normally, that would have been an advantage, but Triter couldn't help but run a paw down his face at the trouble he knew it was going to start.
The bar-stool swiveled, and he turned around, a stern look on what otherwise might have been cute features.
"Listen, man, you were the one who criticized my drink. I dunno how it is where you come from, but where I do, you don't disturb a being while he's trying to enjoy his drink, such as mine is."
He leaned forward, folding his hands in his lap. If one looked, they could see the glint of the blaster in the Amaran's low hip-holster.
"Now, before things get out of hand, how 'bout we all go back to our drinks, and not shoot up the first cantina I've seen in about 1,000 light-years."
 

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Akiara, heard the ruckus coming from the bar. He turend to look at his droid Syke who merely shrugged and motioned him to go in anyway. Akiara made sure the mask fitted to keep his features hidden and the voice emulator was working. He had been following the Pirate since he landed - The Alliance needed more privateers.

He entered the cantina to see the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Uh-oh."

"Hey!" The bartender called. "No droids in here, get that bucket out of here."

Akiara nodded to Syke who went to wait outside, he could tell his droid was internally furious but he shrugged it off. He looked at the scene in the rather deadbeat bar. He could see the Contact and a few others, he gave a respectful Nod to the rather irked looking Trandoshan, no small feat to recognise Trandoshan facial expressions but he had learned. He sat down near the Pirate and asked the bartender for a stiff drink.
 

Noirceur

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Ashkrik looked around him, and saw the crowd he and the Amaran had attracted. Every single eye in the cantina was looking their way. He was used to this kind of attention. He also did not like to be pushed around, especially by humans. He turned around and spoke to the man behind him:

-"Maybe you should not stick your nose where it doesnt belong, little human. You all might be getting into more than you can handle."

"And you." He said while looking back at the Amaran.

"You want to see how we do things in my world? I will gladly show you all!" He said while pulling ot his Vibro-Knucklers.
 
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Akiara saw how the situation was developing and was in a tad of a cold sweat he looked at the bartender who had stiffened up and saw the Trandoshan rising to the challenge. in the glint of his eyes He turned round and spoke to the large scarred specimen in Trandoshan.

"They aren't worth your time huntsman, you're a species above them and myself - why don't you let me buy you a drink?" He reverted back to Basic. "Mercenary right?"
 

Dóiteán

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Maxx, getting tired of the arguing, turned around a drew one of his pistols out of the holster.

"I'm tired of this. I came here to enjoy a drink. Instead I have to heart a Trandoshan arguing with everyone. I suggest you go back to your drink, Trandoshan."

The gunslinger was getting irritated with the arguing. He hated when people interrupted his drinking.
 

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"Put your damned gun away and get back to it then."

Akiara tapped his wrist device twice. Syke outside drew his talons and readied himself for the third tap.
 

Noirceur

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Ashkrik pushed back the man who offerd him a drink in Dosh, and drew his fist, intent on hitting the man threatening him with a gun with his Vibro-Knucklers.

"Walk away? I dont think so!
 

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Marcus drew the blaster pistol from the holster in which it sat and pointed it straight at the trandoshan's left eye, the one not marred by a scar. He had had enough of this lizard thinking he was better than everyone else; he also hated when a more 'prominent' species bullied another that was below their race. He was bullied heavily as a child, and hated when others were treated the way he was.

He squinted his left eye shut, staring the lizard-man down like a hawk with his right. "What's it gonna be, scalesy, one less eye or a clean slate outta here?" He put his finger on the trigger, ready to fire in a millisecond.

To the Amaran: "Sorry to interrupt your drink by the way; you know how cantina's can get." He still had the blaster aimed for the trandoshan, his eye focused intensely down the sights.
 

Noirceur

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Ashkrik looked at the man.

"Hahaha, try me. I like my meat rare."
He said while he silently activated his energy shield, which would protect him from any kind of energy-based weapons.
 

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Triter nodded to the human understandingly; this wasn't his first diver bar confrontation, and likely would not be his last. His nose twitched, however, at the smell of ozone from the Trandoshan activating his personal energy shield.
He turned back around, took up his snifter, and drained it in a single gulp. Turning back to the others, he slid a small, slender tube from his pocket. Pressing a stud on the base, it revealed a slim, monomolecular blade, only visible when the Amaran turned it side-on to his antagonist.
"If you insist on fighting me, apparently for no better reason than that I mildly irritated you, then fine. But there are quite a few of us."
He turned his blade edge-on, and it seemed to briefly disappear. Flicking his eyes over the Trandoshan, he noted all the equipment he carried; rather more than he usually did, but that might work to his advantage. Anyone who carried so many specialized tools probably relied on them more than they should.
"And just because you're bigger than me, don't think it means you can win."
He gritted his teeth, sliding his blaster out of its holster and flicking off the safety.
"There's a reason I don't carry much gear, Trando; I don't need it."
 
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Noirceur

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"Hmmm, they say Amarans taste delicious, but maybe it will be for another time. This isnt the last time we shall meet,"
 
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He didn't tap his wrist a third time. Akiara loosend up as the place began to relax and tensions cooled. He swung around to the Pirate. He did not remove his mask to drink and instead slid it over to him.

"So how did you find your way out here Triter? Hiring or in need of employment?" He flashed a few unmarked credits Amaran. "There are more of these available -" He put the credits back into his inner jacket pocket "If you are interested of course."
 

AutoFox

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Triter skoffed at the Trandoshan, pouring himself another glass of his foul drink and taking a sip.
"I've been told we're quite gamey, myself."
At the sight of credits from one of the humans, Triter looked up; he was presently looking for work, but he knew a talent scout when he saw one. Even if Coruscant was lost, he was not prepared to rule out the Alliance just yet.
I'll just wait 'till they're desperate enough to pay me even more. He thought cynically.
"I'm between jobs at the moment... that said, I need a little time to cool off."
He smiled and shrugged.
"I suppose I'm trying to get as far from events in the Core as I can right now. The hyperlanes 'round there aren't terribly safe for those in my... line of work. The Empire doesn't really differentiate between a free-booter ship and an Alliance frigate at the moment."
Triter had recently commanded a small band of pirates along the Hydian Way, raiding Imperial shipping whenever possible. Unfortunately, this had backfired on him; the Amaran's small fleet, really a collection of a half dozen light freighters fitted with some second-hand ion guns, had been utterly decimated by an Imperial patrol fleet. Triter had fled in his personal starfighter, and had more or less been on the run ever since.
He sipped his drink.
"What about you, friend?"
 
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