Open Tatooine Its Raining Starships (Hallelujah)

[Issachar Tuloc]

The craft was rocked by the meteorite, it's frame bending around the large piece of rock and being flung towards the nearest gravity well. The engines went dead the instant the meteor struck the hull, and Issachar knew that. He acted quickly for his massive size, grabbing various pieces of equipment he needed and began to set them in the escape pod. The first thing to go in was his father's armor, placed inside of a container for extra safe keeping. Two rifles, one being a blaster the other a slugthrower, went after that, followed by his tools and his beskads. With his blaster pistols already in their holsters, he made sure to pack in supplies like food and water before sealing the hatch behind him. Sitting in the seat of the pod, he made sure everything was green before he felt a massive thrust of forward momentum...

To most it looked like a meteor was crashing through the atmosphere, a fireball streaking through the sky of the desert planet. But what was crashing into the dunes of Tattooine was not any ordinary meteor, but a space craft. The weighty vessel slammed into the ground hard, spinning into the sand and skipping like a stone before slamming down hard. The ship practically split in two, the front half being thrown one way and one of the engines snapping off and spinning in another. The rear half flipped over and nearly collapsed in on itself, the final movement being it sinking slightly into the sand beneath it. Another piece of the ship landed half a kilometer away, but this one surprisingly was fine. The escape pod landed without much damage, mostly skimming off the surface of the sand before catching a better angle to land. It took Issachar a moment to get his bearings, judging by his readouts the crash site was little above ten kilometers to Mos Espa. He would just travel to the wreckage of his ship, salvage anything he could, then walk to the town. After that was anyone's guess, but currently the main goal was surviving the sands. He tied the container he had with him to his back, set the tools in carefully, attached the Beskad scabbards to his hips, and slung both of his rifles onto his shoulders. The pod door blew open, and the Annoo-dat Prime Mandalorian began his trek to what was left of his ship.

 

[Issachar Tuloc]

The vision was blurred inside his helmet as Issachar felt a small trickle of blood roll down his forehead. The ringing in his ears was screaming at him, but not as much as the headache that had formed after his rocky landing. Each step was slower than usual, weighty to make sure he was not going to fall. His head was spinning, yet his nature was telling him to fight the pain and keep walking. The sand softly splashed around his boots, the hot sun beating down on his armored form. He was confused as to what caused his ship to crash, but at this moment he knew he should just focus on walking to the remains of his ship.

His stomach was churning halfway through his walk; he was nauseous and his lips were parched. Yet he knew he had to keep going, each footfall labored and deliberate. He knew he was not far, or atleast he thought he wasn't, as he kept climbing the sand dunes of Tattooine's surface. He didn't even stop to consider that others could be watching him, nor did he seem to care if there were.

 

[John Q]

A screaming came across the dunes. A herd of bantha chasing a man across the desert. They heaved and wobbled up and down, stampeding over the pale sands like wooden ships in a sea, sand splashing against their fur. The chased man was maybe 50 feet ahead of them, but they were closing. That's when he spotted Issachar, waved, heel turned, and sprinted towards the Mandalorian, who was maybe a few hundred feet and a few big dunes away.

These were wild animals, and wild animals sometimes wild animal because their wild animals. Perhaps the man had mistakenly stepped on a plot of sand some bantha had pissed on and claimed for its tribe? Perhaps the man had sacrificed a bantha youngling in some indescribable Sith ritual and they were just getting some revenge?

It did not matter. All that mattered was how they were going to escape this mess.

 

[Laris Bey]

Outfit

"Well, looks like mate, again," The old man croaked, clearly bored as the holo-monsters laid waste to the chess board once again. Laris sighed in frustration, letting her head fall back as she stared blankly into Mos Espa's skies.
"Fine, I concede, good game old man" She said through tired and muffled groans, giving him a firm handshake before leaning back again. Why was she bothering with this? She couldn't play Dejarik, she had been trying for years and it was always the same result, she should have given up and moved on by now. Surely there were better ways to pass the time until the next ship left?

Almost as if by the will of The Force, a noise broke through the ambient crowd chatter, a distant hum and boom as something started to fall into view. Laris narrowed her gaze - she had seen enough crashing ships to know one when she saw it. Well then, time to go to work, she figured, tightening the red scarf around her lower face and standing tall, walking over to the nearest ridable animal and casually waving a hand.
"You want me to borrow your Dewback," She said softly, weaving the chords of The Force through her voice. The man's mind collapsed rather quickly, droning a response back before handing her the reins, and Laris jumped up into the saddle, gently patting the Dewback before setting off toward the fresh plume of smoke...

 

[Issachar Tuloc]

The Mandalorian's perception was slowed, but he still was a trained Warrior. What would have seemed fast to any normal civilian felt sluggish to him, he knew he would need a once-over before he was to do anything major. He unsling his slugthrower rifle and put the scope to one of his lower eyes, the rest closing and adjusting his scope to get a range on the man. Within the motion of him unslinging the rifle he had dropped to one knee, waiting for a good shot.

Even as confused as he was Issachar knew he had not much experience with Banthas. He knew they were big, wooly pack creatures that were not too bright. What he hoped was that these creatures were not fond of loud noises, so a slug thrower firing in their direction would scatter them. His head was pounding, yet they tried to force the world around him to stop spinning long enough to make a shot. Whenever he saw the first of the creatures crest a dune, his finger squeezed the trigger. Not at the Bantha, but beside it and somewhat ahead. Let us hope this works, he thought. And with that, a loud crack was heard as a slug flew from the rifle...

 

[John Q]

Peeuu... the slug hit the ground. John jumped as the pang echoed in the lonely desert. The Banthas veered sharply at the shot. The herd ran away from John and the Mandalorian, moaning in confusion. Their stampede would cause the dunes to tremble for many miles. One bantha stayed behind, turning around and around and snorting at the sky.

John slowed to a trot as he approached Issachar. He was covered in sweat and the sweat made the sand stick to him. He took out a plastic bottle of water from his backpack and squeezed the water into his mouth.

“It’s funny what you find in the desert. I thank you, stranger,” he shouted at Issachar.

 

[Laris Bey]

Laris quickly realized that stealing the Dewback was not the best idea. He was stubborn, uncooperative, and occasionally tried to buck her off when she would spur him, but he at least went in the direction she wanted. As the sun stretched on, she started to wonder if she would have been better off just walking, the frack went at a snail's pace and occasionally just stopped dead until fed or watered. Eventually, though, she saw the distant silhouette of wreckage start to dot the horizon and two vaguely humanoid shapes.

She peered out into the distance, raising a hand and concentrating. She could sense two people, one of them injured, and the other entrenched in the Dark Side, though that didn't bother her all that much. Who was she to judge someone on their affiliations, it was what they did that defined them. It would probably be best to keep her saber tucked inside her coat just to be sure though. They began to grow larger, taking shape and becoming more well-defined in her eye as the seconds ticked on, until she was fairly certain they could see her too. When they turned to look at her, she held up a hand and waved them down, only speaking when the Dewback groaned and finally came to a dead halt, laying down on the warm sand.

"I come in peace. Ship trouble?" She asked playfully, smiling beneath the scarf as she dismounted the Dewback and pulled out a stim, holding it up. "Need a boost? You don't look too well."

 

[Issachar Tuloc]

The Mandalorian's ears were ringning loudly, not by the shot he fired but by the growing headache that had been with him since he crashed into the sand dune. Was it a crash? He did not really remember that, all that was on his mind was getting that Bantha. He had not taken the shot to save the figure running from the herd, but to spook one of them. With a swift motion, he slung the rifle over his back and began to climb the dune, his tunnel vision having blocked the oncoming rider from his view. He just wanted to calm that Bantha, so he walked forward in a soft crouch, one hand outstretched while the other offered the beast a ration pack he had in hand.

The food was not the best, but the smell along should get the Banthas attention. The guess was indeed correct, as the Bantha atleast stopped spinning and snorting to look at him. One hand softly went to pat the fat nose of the beast, a sign of comfort and kinship atleast in Issachar's experience, the other hand moved to slip the ration into the beasts mouth. He tried to calm the creature enough to ride, softly whispering to it in Mando'a before speaking louder to the other two he knew were there yet did not see.

"If you wish to help then I suggest we scavenge what is left of my ship. I will take half the profit and you both take the rest, and only then will I take treatment." Even concussed, Issachar's voice was full of intelligence and might. It was deep and gravely, in the soothing way like one expected from an experienced opera singer. Yet, even through all of the power and the will he had, the voice was still not free of a hint of pain. His head was still screaming at him after all.

 

[John Q]

John watched as the man tamed the bantha. It seemed almost superhuman that one could befriend such a wild beast; such men were rare, and it made John wonder if the traveler had some connection with the force. "Scavenge your ship? Alright, I accept your offer. Where are you from exactly? You have an odd accent, like you're not from around here."

The sun was a white hot hole overhead, bleaching the sand pale yellow-browns. The breeze came and went. John kept walking and looked at Laris- another new suspicious arrival. Another person who could tame creatures of the desert and get them to do their bidding. "And what do they call you? This is my desert you people are on here. More specifically, property of the Borwaga Mining Company. You're not supposed to be here."

 

[Issachar Tuloc]

The massive figure finally began to stand up fully, it's frame well over eight feet tall and built like a brick house. The top knot on the back of the helmet was swaying in the wind as it turned back to look at John, the dull silver sheen of his helmet reflecting the sunlight as it glared down at him. His extra two arms were crossed in the small of his back, as they were the entire time, just barley touching the grips of his Westar 55s just in case a fight broke out. This was not for him to be threatening, the aura about him not malicious but instead one of caution. He did not know these two well, but they were the best he had. His two, strong upper arms helped him climb up on the back of the Bantha, softly patting the side of his head. His armored tail was held along the spine of the large beast, his torso held straight up in the air.

"My species I am is Annoo-dat Prime, from the little known planet Annoo-dat. But the relation is only blood, as you can see from the Iron on my back and the Beskads on my hips I am a Mandalorian." The growling voice flowed from the helmet like water in a stream, still trying and somewhat successfully betraying the pain in his head. It was not needles stabbing his brain anymore, it was the jagged pieces of metal from his starship shredding his mind. He knew he had to keep it together until he was at Mos Espa, only then could he let himself suffer.

"Come now, let us make way. The ship is probably being picked apart as we speak, if we get there fast enough we may have something to pick between."