Lost and Found

[MoreThanSane]

"He's back."

Arbon Carrio looked up from the small S'fixstin clay statue he was sculpting. His Second Mate stood in the entrance way of his Contemplation Place. He felt his tail begin to vibrate in surprise and building anger before the full meaning of her words struck him. His tail went rigid. Him?

"Are you certain?" Arbon's hands slipped from the sculpture.

"Quite certain, my lord." The Second Mate had fallen to her knees at the sight of his vibrating tail. "He is even now knelt on top Vir'son Mount, a metallic sculpture before him." Her tail waved with her words and Arbon felt excitement within. Long had it been since any had observed the Master at work on one of his beautiful metallic sculptures. "Crio says it is to be his greatest Construct. It must be. After so long... it must be."

Arbon nodded. "It must be." He looked down at the sculpture before him. Only moments ago he had been quite proud of his work, yet the discussion had distracted him too long. The clay, so malleable just moments before, had already hardened and gone brittle without the softening touch of his saliva. He smacked it to the ground, shattering into pearly shards, and stood. He grasped his Second Mate by the neck and stroked her jawline softly. "Take me to him."

It was not a long walk and Arbon knew the way well, but it was shameful for a successful artisan to be seen in the community without one of his mates. Especially the Lord Artisan. Arbon had to set precedent.

There he was. Atop the Mount Vir'Son, tattered cloak flapping in the aggressive evening winds, black as the mane of thick hair that fell about his shoulders. It was the Master, hands flicking about the metallic construct with a sureness and dexterity seen only in the finest artisans. Arbon joined the crowd forming at the Mount's base. They would watch, all of them together, through the night and to the next day's dawn. They would watch the Master at his work.



I'd forgotten how kriffing annoying it is to have five dozen bug-eyed aliens looking over my shoulder.

He smacked the eighteenth makeshift battery into its slot and shook his head. On the bright side, at least these weren't trying to eat him. That tribe on the east side of what the natives called the Ckokori Mountains, though... well, they were a different story. He wondered briefly if they'd managed to rebuild their village. He was fairly certain he'd left a sufficient number of females alive for the next breeding. Fairly certain. That's the trouble with unstudied poisons--so very difficult to manage with anything approaching finesse. At least when said poison is being dumped gleefully into the tribe's central water source.

The nineteenth battery was in place. One more.

Who could blame him, though? They'd tried to eat him thrice, the little bastards. Almost succeeded twice. Who could blame him?

Twentieth battery. He stood and gave what the natives were no doubt calling his "construct" a once-over. In reality it was the most ingenious hyperspace transmitter he'd ever seen, if only because it was built completely from the most primitive materials one could imagine. His ninth attempt in... more years. He actually wasn't certain how many. That was frustrating. When had he lost count? He shook his head. Not worth considering.

He looked into the rising sun and felt his heart begin to beat rapidly as his hand rested on the activation switch--a crudely shaped rock he'd found conducts electricity. He increased pressure and the rock slipped a notch downward.

The device whistled and cracked. His heart jumped and suddenly hands were flying over the rudimentary controls. This was his chance. After so many years, this was his chance.

White noise, just white noise... more white noise... there... there was something there....

A voice, suddenly clear, boomed through the still morning air.

We've been fighting for so long, so long that we can barely remember a time when we weren't fighting. So many have died, so many gone. Remember you are not alone, there are pockets of Rebellions all over the galaxy.

It is important for us to remember that the Sith are capable of suffering defeat. Remember the Battle of Manaan, where Defiance Squadron, the pioneers of this very Rebellion took a stand and held their ground against the mighty Sith Empire. The Sith can be killed, we have learned that. Take your time, hold your distance and do not let go of your trigger until you are certain. If you hear the whine of TIE fighters, seek cover, follow the evacuation plans that you've put in place. The Stormtroopers are well armoured, but lack mobility and range of movement. Stay behind them, and where possible, eliminate silently with extreme prejudice. Above all else, stay alive. We will come for you. You have no idea how important you all are to this Rebellion, and how important your actions are for the entire Galaxy.

The Sith have begun to tighten their grip on our homes, they're becoming more creative in ways to try and stop us. They have started going as far as even treating worlds with kindness, but this is done with a black, empty heart. They seek only to control us.

But we are planning something.

This is Terrsyn Pearot. If you are seeing this, you are the Rebellion.

Aelianus Atratinus dropped to his knees. Rebellion...

...but that meant....

No. A thousand images, ten thousand thoughts, one-hundred thousand words, all of them in an instant, all of them eclipsed by the grief filling his heart.

Hands once again flicked over the controls. Twenty seconds later the transmitter crackled and died.

Aelianus Atratinus, accomplished scholar, soldier, spy and castaway, toppled over and slept.

 

[Cassanova]

. After the successful transmission of our broadcast, we began getting reports of all sorts of signals broadcasted with old, outdated frequency codes. What little intelligence we have been able to gather has, thus far, proven the vast majority to be traps laid by the Sith Imperium. One, however, appears to be ringing true. Roughly a week after our transmission, we recieved a signal which was piggy-backed onto a civilian coding system called 'Intrepid'. This program was once an Alliance information access point for deep-cover operatives. To the best of our knowledge the Empire never gained critical awareness of this program, and thus has been kept operational in the event operatives required assistance. As this planet is listed as unknown, and largely unexplored - in addition to being unused by any signs of Imperial patrols - we deduce that this is a legitimate S.O.S. I'm assembling a team to take one of our MC10c Light Freighters to ths planet and investigate the signal. As we are completely unawares of what dangers may be present on this planet, we are to travel expectant of trouble. One of the MC20 gunships, The Defiant, will remain on standby on the edge of the system in the event we require assistance. Forward applications to the mission to this frequency. Pearot, out. .

The Rebellion's leader re-read over his mission advertisement again, groaning at his own prose, lack of information, and terrible imagery. Writing anything was not his strong suit by any means. Nonetheless, aboard the small, remarkably cramped MC10 freighter, in which he had managed to pack enough gear to handle anything. Medevac, assault, hazmat, demolitions -- complete overkill, but better to have it and not need it. Sitting in the main belly of the craft was TP and his two comrades-in-arms for this mission; Commander Kylis Risenfel, with whom TP had begun to develop some dangerously brash strategies against the Sith. In all honesty, Kylis had that sort of wild-around-the-eyes look which was something that he valued. That unpredictable readiness to get it done. Unknown situations are ones you can't plan for. And operations without a plan require quick thinking men. The third inhabitant of the MC10 was of course Thane Serasa, a Rebel who TP hadn't had the pleasure of meeting before they boarded the craft, made introductions and quickly got on their way to this unknown planet. As with Kylis, this unknown situation was going to be ideal to see what Serasa was made of. The fourth was a pilot named Stefan Mitsimmons who had immense skill in piloting the MC10, who had also volunteered for the mission.

Sporting his Firefly MCU armour, rifle tucked between his legs, pistol strapped to his left left, and helmet resting on his lap he eyed his fellow Rebels and spoke softly, but clearly. "I want to thank you two for coming with me on this. Its risky, but I just wanted to say thanks either way. Let's just keep together and look out for each other."

 

[The Kyzer]

Checking the straps of his Taskmaster body armor's chest plate, Kylis tried to keep his breathing slow and steady. His nerves and muscles were amped up by the very idea of this mission, and he was ready to do what he did best: succeeding.

"Aye, aye, skipper," Kylis replied with a casual salute, "Should I bring the High Explosives, or have you got it covered?"

The Rebel commander hefted one of his two SC40 Demo-kits, tossing it in one hand. Terrsyn knew of his propensity to bring enough ordinance to bring down a Super Star Destroyer. Then again, it had come in handy more often than not.

Casually, Kylis checked his gear again. He'd opted to leave his FWG-5 Flechette Pistol back in his bunk to make room for extra ammo clips. His two Taskmaster Pistols were strapped in their holsters crossed at the small of his back while his short sword was tucked in a sheathe beneath those. His battered but well-maintained HCR was strapped to his right shoulder and around his chest for quick and easy accessibility.

"By the way, will I be needing this," Kylis asked while he hefted his "Lawbreaker", "or should I keep it light? Not sure how quick we'll need to be moving, and how many hostiles will be in our way."

 

[Jarrow]

Thane Serasa was going through the same routine he had gone over a hundred times before, checking armor pieces and weapons for integrity and charge, respectively. The other two rebels were going through similar routines, which provided a strange comfort for him. He was unused to working with others, so knowing that other people followed the same routines that he did was reassuring; he wasn't insane. Always a comfort.

The other two men with him, not including their pilot, seemed like good people. Rough soldier types, both of them, but that was clearly what the fledgling rebellion needed, he knew. He had only just met Kylis at the briefing for this, but he seemed more than competent, if his casual talk of explosives was anything to go by. Pearot was a little more familiar to him, as the leader of their cause. It felt odd, having a cause, he thought idly. Rumours were that he had been present during the fall of Coruscant, and it took more self control than he thought he had not to ask the man about it. They hadn't met, as far as he was aware, but just knowing that they had fought in the same battle was....odd.

Satisfied that it was prepared, he sat his Peacemaker across his knees, smirking as he realized that the weapon had seen him through more tough fights than he cared to think about. His lightsaber, once worn deep under layers of clothing to hide who and what he was, was now worn with a sense of pride where it belonged, attached to his belt, smacking occasionally against his left hip. He had stowed his usual bantha leather jacket in favor of a more tactical approach, having managed to scrounge a few pieces from a Firefly MCU set, most noticeably the bicep and greave-pieces. The quartermaster had offered him more, but he had learned to fight with minimal armor, and that was what he was good in.

"Of course, General." Was the reply as he shook his head slightly, red hair flapping a little. "Wouldn't miss a good old fashioned recovery for the world."

 

[Cassanova]

Terrsyn chuckled, "Go easy, Kylis. We're here to mount a recovery op, not a demolition." He paused for a moment, and tapped his chin, "Best bring one of them to be safe, but keep your kit as light as you can. We may have to hoof it quite a distance before we get the pleasure of finding our target."

"Sir, sixty seconds until we drop out of hyperspace," the pilot spoke softly into the PA system.

"Copy that, Sim!" It became apparently that Stefan Mitsimmons and TP had worked together previously. Sim, of course being a friendly nickname that had been exchanged during an awkward exfiltration on the edge of Hutt space earlier that year. Oddly, and rather unsettlingly, the MC10 was the same vessel type that was used in that skirmish too. Although, the MC10 that Sim had piloted on that occasion was left in far worse condition than the current one. "No flips this time, alright?"

A blood-chilling cackle came from the cockpit, "No promises, TP!"

With a hearty grin on his face, TP eyed his team again, and spoke softly. "When we touch down, Sim will transmit his sensor readings to us through the comm system. Hopefully we can find the source of the signal, figure out whats going on and get back before we encounter any problems," He frowned, "We don't know whats on this planet. Sentient, non-sentient, fauna or flora. Watch where you step, and stay in contact. Return fire only. If there's wildlife thats threatening us, stun it. Last thing we need is a disrupted eco system and the blame on us."

Even from the passenger area of the MC10 TP felt the gentle lurch of the hyperdrive cutting out. A gentle shudder of the vessel, a tell-tale sign of wear-and-tear, was easily felt as the sub-light engines fired up. Leaning forward and wrapping his arm around his helmet to ensure it didn't go rolling around the cabin, TP got a view of the sandy-coloured planet, littered with what looked to be vast inland seas. Immediately he thought to himself, Oh good. Desert planet. Heavy armour. Great job...

The MC10 hurtled down towards the planet's surface, and gently began to rattle as it skimmed across the planet's atmosphere, gently losing speed so as to actually make a landing. Slowly, but gradually, the ship began to shake more violently requiring TP to extend his hand to the bulkhead to stabilise himself from falling out of his seat. A quick glance into the cabin saw Sim violently throwing the control stick about like a baffoon on a sugar high. "Sim, cut it out! Or this is a one-way trip!" Clearly ensaddened by TP's seriousness in the matter, Sim disgruntledly adjusted his flight path so that it was much smoother, but the cheeky grin could still be seen plastered on his face.

It wasn't long before the small craft had settled into the atmosphere, still decreasing its speed until such a point where it was conceivable for it to touch down. Once Sim had the craft settled over what seemed to be a rocky outcrop, TP stood up, checking his gear for the fifth time in the past hour. A quick look out the cockpit and at the sensors gave TP the confidence to tap Sim on the shoulder, "Set us down and open the door." A sharp order to the other two men after affixing his helmet over his head, "Gear up!"

The rear hatch opened, the boarding ramp settled onto the rocky outcrop with a dusty thud. Without much of a word, TP raised his KI-11B rifle up and slowly moved out of the craft, checking the horizon for any sign of hostile activity. Seeing none, he settled himself down, and lowered his rifle, waiting for his two brothers-in-arms.

 

[MoreThanSane]

There was nothing worse than waiting. No, that was false. There was indeed something worse than waiting--wondering. Wondering was far worse than waiting. Waiting could be enjoyable, given the proper pastime, but if the wait was filled with wondering there was nothing this side of the addle-brained notion of a hell that could prove more torturous. For years Aelianus had managed his time quite well. He'd even managed to entertain himself to some degree--quite easily, given the local natives' reverence--but never before had he come so close to rescue.

Had he successfully gotten his transmission out? Had he been too distracted by that transmission he'd picked up? Had the years cut off from technology and civilization slowed him? Had his mind suffered during his entrapment on this Force forsaken rock?

Aelianus grimaced and kicked his wooden chair. It flew to the opposite side of the small hut. Small by his standards, but ornate and magnificent by the local tribe's. It'd been built for him after his first attempt at a transmitter, a transmitter that had been praised as the most divine work of art ever seen, a transmitter that had resulted in his being given Mastership and highest authority by the tribe, so long as his commands never conflicted with the Artisan's Code. That is, so long as he never asked them to do anything kriffing useful.

He knelt by the chair's splintered remains, picked up what had been it's fifth leg. This planet had changed him. Even five years ago he never would've lashed out with such anger and frustration. Yet now such emotions gave him constant companionship, comforted him during the cold nights, gave him the will to carry on even when love threatened to fail him. Surely those he loved, or rather the one he loved, had moved on. Surely she had. Aelianus stood, walked to his mattress and sat.

He should sleep. Yet round and round his mind went, forbidding sleep, locking it away behind iron gates. Aelianus sighed, closed his eyes. Two weeks since the transmitter burned out and he heard the call to Rebellion. He would wait two weeks more. That was his decision, he held it firm in his mind. Two weeks, then he would begin his trek to the crystal valleys to the southwest and begin constructing batteries for another attempt. Two weeks.

A thunderclap split the air.

Without thought Aelianus charged outside and looked to the sky. He saw no ship, no drive trail visible in orbit. There, something... perhaps a bird? But perhaps not. It moved swiftly.

So engrossed in his frantic search for rescue, Aelianus failed to notice the distinctive whistling he'd become so familiar with in the tribal wars three years prior. The arrow embedded itself in his left shoulder blade, throwing his entire body forward against the outer wall of his hut. Combat reflexes, sharp as ever, took hold and Aelianus was immediately through the entrance and behind the cover of his clay home. He gingerly reached back and removed the arrow, cursing violently. This was just what he needed. Another tribal war, like there wasn't enough for him to worry about. The wound wasn't bad, simply torn skin as the arrow had hardly managed to stick into his bone.

The clamor of battle could be heard outside. It was a raid, he was certain. Nothing more. An abduction of women and children. Arbon was probably rallying the warrior artisans even now. Aelianus grabbed the daggers he'd been given during his induction into the tribe as well as his mace. He almost chuckled every time he saw the thing. From a thick wooden shaft ran rope, tied expertly round the submachine gun he'd saved. Harder than any material he'd come across on the planet, the weapon made a superb blunt instrument. It'd shattered plenty of native skulls in past years.

Daggers in hand, mace draped over his uninjured shoulder, Aelianus stepped outside. The battle was in full force near the village center.

If that boom earlier had been a ship, they would find him. Until then, at least now he had a pastime.

Aelianus sprinted for the battle.

 

[Jarrow]

It hadn't taken Thane long to come to the understanding that Sim was one of the breed of pilots who made it their mission in life to challenge both their ships and their passenger's stomachs with every flight. He could see the practical applications of a combat pilot who could maneuver a freighter like a drunken fighter pilot, but that didn't make him any less annoyed with the showoff as they jinked and jerked around the atmosphere like ragdolls. Still, it was hard to keep a straight face; the pilot was clearly a joker, and a little comedy relief was rarely a bad thing before stepping off the ramp into the unknown.

At the order to gear up, he hefted his rifle, checking it one last time. It was still charged. His armor was still fitting decently, and he stretched and flexed experimentally; it was a new addition to his arsenal, and the last thing he wanted was to discover in the middle of combat that the plates rode up or down, or shifted at the wrong moment. But everything seemed to be in order, and nothing was jumping out as being wrong, besides landing on an unfamiliar planet to answer a somewhat questionable distress call in the name of a rebellion dedicated to facing the worst Sith the galaxy had ever known. In fact, Thane thought for the moment before the ramp came down, it was possible that they were all quite insane.

But then the boarding ramp came down, and he was moving forward. The red-haired man kept his rifle raised, cheek against the stock and eye down the sight as he fanned out to the left of their commander, scanning for any signs of, well, anything.

 

[The Kyzer]

Kylis felt the beginnings of the first unexpected maneuver, and grabbed a hand hold as quickly as he could. Years spent on space-faring vessels had taught him a multitude of things. One of those things was that if you had a jester for a pilot, never be too far away from a hand rail.

"Crash webbing's for sissies and Ewoks, huh kid?" Kylis yelled to Thane as they bounced around. He thought for a moment that he saw the young Rebel turn a shade of green, but he'd toughed it out. Though a bit young, the kid was tough. Kylis had to give him that.

After TP ordered the pilot to chill out on the hijinks, Kylis finished his pre-departure checks. He only took one demolitions kit like TP had requested, but he kept the Lawbreaker strapped to his back. It was relatively light anyway for such a large weapon, and its collapsible stock kept it from getting in the way.

When the freighter finally slowed to a stop, Kylis stood up and readied himself. Personally, he hoped they found something of interest at the very least, but he sincerely hoped that something wasn't an Imperial trap.

"Ladies first," Kylis jested as Thane exited the ship. All joking aside, though, Kylis' eyes were scanning the environment for any signs of life, or danger, along with his HCR's barrel.

 

[Cassanova]

TP turned back to face the MC10 and finally caught a glimpse of Thane's lightsaber. Dangling offensively infront of him, the General fought to keep his composure. The lightsaber, in truth, nothing more than a tool, but to him it was a symbol -- no, a reminder of so much more. A lightsaber was the primary weapon of the Jedi, heck it was a symbol of them. The Jedi, the same very Jedi who left the Alliance and Terrsyn's world to burn at the eleventh hour after a war that they started finally arrived at their doorstep. When the Galaxy's center of civilisation needed them most, the Jedi Order folded up like a tiny origami bird and simply flew off. As a result of the Jedi's reckless abandonment, TP and so many others like himself were forced to fight against overwhelming odds. Billions lost their lives. To TP, wearing a lightsaber was as good as saying you agreed with that decision.

He took two steps forward towards Thane and released his left hand from the trigger of his rifle, leaning forward grasping the lightsaber and giving a single, brutish tug on it, freeing it from his belt. Waving it at Thane as though her were a child who grabbed a knife from the kitchen table, TP scolded him, "The Jedi are not welcome here. They caused this fight. They are unreliable cowards and have no place here." A dismissive toss saw the lightsaber thrown, clanking along the floor of the MC10 freighter. It would be there safe and sound when they returned. "Are you unreliable, Serasa?!" TP frowned and turned away, exhasperated, "Move out!"

Without waiting for either one of his men to respond, he set about heading off in the approximate direction of the beacon, quickly setting his mind to the task at hand. There were few things that Pearot hated in life. Among them was cabbage, the Sith, and the Jedi.

 

[Jarrow]

A variety of emotions and thought patterns crossed Thane's mind, mostly unbidden, in the several seconds it took for him to be disarmed, his saber tossed back into the ship. The first was an instinct to lash out at the general location of TP's nose. Not intentionally, but as a general rule people got their noses broken when they tried to grab things from him. Years spent being the victim of pickpockets on Nar Shadda had done that to him, but he repressed it, barely, instead just twitching slightly.

His next reaction was indignation, and it showed a little more. He hadn't explained much of his past upon linking up with the cell that he was currently a part of, so perhaps it was natural for people to assume that he was a Jedi. Once, it had almost been true, after all. But not for a long time. The part of him that had been though, was not pleased. He'd heard the stories about TP, about how he was there at the fall, and he knew it wasn't uncommon for survivors to share his opinion. But it was still wrong.

The third emotion that crossed his mind was anger. Not red, raw anger, but a cold annoyance. Unreliable cowards, indeed. Were the ones who stayed to defend the city cowards? Were the ones who gave their lives to hold back what they knew was an unstoppable force cowards? Was his own master a coward when she had taken on odds she knew she would not beat simply to buy more time for evacuations? Now was not the time, he knew, but clearly the leader of the new rebellion had some misconceptions, ones that would need to be rectified before he began thinking that Thane was some form of opponent.

More than anything though, he was annoyed at having his weapon taken. He was better with a blaster these days, true, but he had kept that weapon for over a decade now, and this was the first time he had been disarmed of it. Now, just as he had finally felt that he could display it openly, the man they were trusting to lead them had taken it away.

The galaxy, Thane mused as they set off towards the beacon, staying behind and left of TP, was a crazy place.

 

[MoreThanSane]

"Three years have past. We should have been prepared for this." Arbon was knelt over the limp and bloodied remains of his Third Mate, grief clearly audible in his deep, vaguely feline voice. "I should have been prepared."

Aelianus allowed the other to continue uninterrupted, moving from corpse to corpse, flipping them over and searching for his second dagger. He knew he'd thrown it into one of these crazy little bastards. Others of the tribe moved from corpse to corpse, but with far more solemn tasks.

"We are artisans, yet war is an art. An art we neglect until the time comes. How can we be so foolish so constantly?" Arbon bowed his head. "Such foolishness... such great death. Such grief. Master, why did you allow us to proceed down such a foolish course?"

Aelianus squatted near a body, ran his hand over the bloody flesh, opened in several places from what looked like stab wounds. He flipped the dead alien over and let out a satisfied grunt as he tugged his dagger out of the small of its back. Wiping the gory weapon on the equally filthy fabric of his trousers, Aelianus stood and looked at Arbon.

"Lord Arbon, I've known you for many years. In all that time you have proven a great leader to your tribe. In past wars you have always led your people to victory. Swiftly and surely, with great wisdom. It is my confidence that you will again do so." Aelianus stepped over the corpse and grabbed Arbon's cape, far cleaner than his own clothes, and began to wipe his daggers. Arbon hardly seemed to notice. "The fighting today was brutal, but it was clear that the enemy was outmatched. Your people have not been trained in the art of war, but their loyalty is unrivaled." He finished with his daggers and slid them into his belt. It had been a good fight and he was tired. Too tired to challenge his mind with continued conversation in an alien tongue. It was time to leave the aliens to take care of their own matters.

"You will succeed, Arbon. Loyalty is a greater weapon than strength or speed. I must bathe and rest. Post a guard at the entrance to my dwelling. You have much work to do. Be about it."

Arbon nodded, bowed. "Of course, Master. Would you like to be privy to all dis--"

A cry went up from the edge of the village. Aelianus almost rolled his eyes. The first battle had been almost fun but he was simply not in the mood for a second. He needed to return to his hut and think. Nevertheless, he drew his daggers and turned toward the alarm...

...to find three figures trudging into the village. Human figures.

He couldn't help it. Aelianus grinned.

He reached the three men in just a few quick strides. Two he didn't recognize. His green eyes took them in -- probable personality types, obvious strengths, tentative estimates of intelligence, possible physical weaknesses and of course the quickest way to eliminate both of them without serious injury to himself -- before resting on the man in the middle. A man he did recognize. A man he was extremely happy to see.

Aelianus held out his hand. "Pearot. It's good to see you."

 

[Cassanova]

The several kilometer walk through the sandy expanse was uncomfortable but not entirely intolerable. Although there was unquestionably the tense silence that came between the unresolved issue shared between TP and Thane -- there would be time for that at a later date, the mission came first.

After some time, at least an hour and a half at a considerate pace, the gentle slopes began to take harsher, more vertical turns, leading into the foothills. Sim had been passing topographical scans to the trio as they progressed through the barren desert, and had been gently adjusting their course through the desert maintaining the high ground to best figure out where that elusive signal originated from. They had all deduced that anyone with half a brain would have attempted to do so from the highest point in the terrain. Based on what little information they had, the team set themselves for that location.

TP saw the indigenous species first and clicked his commlink once, drawing Thane and Kylis' attention directly ahead, remaining silent TP moved forward, with purpose. Regrettably, they quickly spotted the trio - apparently armour-clad humans were a rare sight around these parts and cause for alarm - well, he assumed it was some alarm; the shrill reptilian-esque cry made the Rebel leader cringe for a moment before working his way up the hill. Weapon still set to stun, TP moved up the hill, the barrel pointed towards the ground - a lack of hostility may be what was needed here, but then again - unknown world, unknown species -- who knew what was happening. Something unexpected could always happen...

"Pearot. It's good to see you." TP recoiled at his name for a moment, and turned to see a shabbily dressed, unshaved human. He took a moment, releasing his hand from the rail grip on his rifle, shaking the man's hand. The firm grip quickly tripped a switch in his mind.

"Atratinus?" the look of disbelief on TP's face would be easy to identify, even behind the amber coloured full-face visor of his helmet, "We'd written you off for dead over a decade ago... how... What?"

TP, clearly baffled by the situation shook his head in awe, and assessed the tail-endowed indigenous. Their comfort levels around the former Inteligence Lieutenant suggested it was safe enough, so TP engaged the safety on his weapon, and removed his helmet, sliding it over a pouch on the back of his belt. With a grand, sweeping gesture towards Aelianus, TP made introductions, "Boys, this is Lieutenant Aelianus Atratinus. 5th Regiment Special Operations Intelligence branch," he took a moment to point to his two cohorts as he introduced them. "Commander Kylis Risenfel and Thane Serasa."

"I suppose you could say we're your ride out of here..." TP smiled as he rested his arms on his slung rifle, "Assuming, of course, you want to come with us."

 

[The Kyzer]

Commander Risenfel moved quickly to mirror Thane's position, completing the "Delta" formation. He felt the tension between TP and Thane, and merely shook his head at it. Firstly because he knew what the Jedi had done, both good and bad, and had weighed it as neutral. Secondly, he thought it was quite silly to provoke an argument in the middle of a mission that all three of them knew next to nothing about.

Too many unknowns, Kylis thought soberly as he kept his HCR up and ready. He would have preferred to use his Lawbreaker pulse rifle, but it didn't have a stun-option. Just killing. That said, it wasn't as though the Mandalorian weapon was any slouch, which gave Kylis some comfort.

Following Pearot, Kylis was busy checking their proverbial "six" when they nearly ran upon the village. He nearly jumped out of his skin when TP clicked his commlink.

Need to quit smoking, fool, Kylis thought to himself, Your nerves are getting too jumpy.

As they entered the village, Kylis lowered his weapon slightly to avoid provoking hostilities, but he didn't take his finger off the trigger. Terrsyn's recognition of one of the inhabitants eased Kylis a bit.

"Pleased to meet you, buddy," Kylis said genially, pulling his finger off the trigger, "I see you guys don't get visitors often?"

 

[Jarrow]

He'd only worn light plates, so the treck in the heat wasn't as bad for him as it might have been. Pearot certainly looked tired, but that was to be expected, he'd worn a full combat suit after all. He was still miffed at the commander's casual dismissal, and more than miffed at being disarmed, but apart from the occasional glance at the back of his head, his reaction was kept simply to very un-Jedi like thoughts occasionally as he scanned the horizon.

They were quickly spotted, and it seemed as if humans were uncommon on this planet, judging by the local's reaction. Or perhaps, he thought, simply the sight of armed individuals made them unwary. They wouldn't have been the first species to learn the hard way that often the arrival of heavily armed and armored soldiers spelled bad things for their future.

Just like the others, he kept the muzzle of his weapon lowered, figuring that annoying the rather jumpy and war-like locals would be counter-productive. As introductions were made, he nodded once before turning around, lowering himself to one knee to watch their backs as TP got on with the making-nice.

 

[MoreThanSane]

Aelianus wiped a drip of gore from his brow with the back of a hand, ignored the greetings of the two soldiers accompanying TP.

"I suppose you could say we're your ride out of here..." TP smiled as he rested his arms on his slung rifle, "Assuming, of course, you want to come with us."

"Yes," he said. No other response was needed, yet after spending years without human contact Aelianus decided to indulge himself in needless communication for no reason other than that he was truly happy. "Yes, Pearot. I don't often engage in this sort of emotional display, but... well...." Aelianus stepped in and grabbed the other by the shoulders -- Risenfel twitched, obviously prepared to come to his commander's rescue within a split second if this unshaven, gory stranger threatened his life -- then pulled him into a tight embrace, armor and all. After a few moment's he released his former subordinate and slapped him on the shoulder. "I'm quite happy to see you, Pearot. Quite happy."

Aelianus rolled his shoulders. His wound was painful, but he doubted it was worth mentioning until they were aboard whatever ship TP had brought. Then it could be properly treated and disinfected. "As you can see," he gestured back toward the carnage that had been the village's center, "I've just finished assisting the locals in a brief tribal conflict. This area is prone to very heated wars and I've helped them through several, now." Aelianus scowled. It was all so overwhelming, shocking, he simply couldn't seem to come to a conclusion as to how he should act or what he should ask or what he should say. So many questions, so many worries that he could finally get an answer to. Yet above all was the incredibly powerful desire to simply leave. To leave all of this. The idiot natives, the harsh conditions, the constant anxiety and effort spent to escape. Such a comfort it was, though, to know that it hadn't, as he had so often worried, been for nothing. Here he was, here they were.

Rescue.

"If it is possible, I would like to leave immediately. I have nothing of value, nor any reason whatsoever to linger." Aelianus rubbed his hands together. "You can understand my eagerness. I've been here a long, long time."



Arbon stood at the head of a growing crowd, observing the Master in his conversation with the other humans. They were large, obviously mighty warriors, holding weapons similar to the Master's Lightning Caster. The Master's weapon had broken long ago, but these humans must have brought some in working order. Such a weapon... it would guarantee victory against the other tribes. They would all be forced to bow before the Tribe, to recognize the Lord Artisan as their supreme ruler.

The Master had been good to the Tribe, though, a voice of wisdom who'd saved many souls. He could not forsake that friendship. Would not forsake that friendship.

The Master turned, looked at him. His hand extended into the air and flicked briefly. Arbon had seen that gesture twice before, each time the Master had left on one of his longer journeys. It was a gesture of parting. The Master turned and began walking up the Mount Vir'Son.

Rage burned within Arbon. This could not be! Only just now they had been speaking of the great trials facing the Tribe. Only just now they had spoken of overcoming those trials, of winning the coming conflicts, of loyalty. This was not loyalty! It was abandonment.

Arbon's rage turned cold and he turned toward his people, tail shaking uncontrollably.

"The Master seeks to leave us at our lowest moment -- broken, beaten, downhearted. He leaves us worse than he found us. Long it has been since the Master first came to our village, waving his Lightning Caster at all who dared disturb him, striking them down with godly light. The other tribes forsook him, yet we welcomed him into our village. We provided shelter and sustenance in return for nothing. The Master assisted us at times, but only where is served his selfish desires." Arbon paused, a twang of guilt passing through his hearts. He wasn't certain that what he said was true, but it mattered not. The Master was forsaking the Tribe. Now the Tribe would forsake him.

"The Master abandons us at this time, leaving us to die at the hands of those who have oppressed our spirits and stolen our mates. We will not allow it!" Already grief-stricken and in the Mood of Death, his people were angry, wrathful, as enraged as him. Their tails shook ferociously, their hands grasped various weapons tightly. "Forsake the Master! Slaughter him! He was never a god! Never a friend! He is a demon and we will treat him as such!"

Arbon snatched a bow from the nearest tribesmen and took the arrow handed to him. He spun toward the trio of humans now at the Mount's base and screamed a war cry as he loosed his arrow. It flew straight and true. The master stumbled to the ground, landing on his hands and knees, then turned toward Arbon. Arbon locked eyes with the foul creature, then waved his people forward with another cry.

The demon would die.

 

[The Kyzer]

Soft but steadily increasing in volume, the hiss was the first clue to Kylis that something was wrong. He looked back over his shoulder only to see the glint of an object flying at high speed before it hit Aelianus with a solid thwump. A lone arrow stuck out of the ex-GA spy, but Kylis was already moving.

"Get down!" the commander yelled to his comrades as he spun about, "Hostiles on our tail! The LT's hit. Serasa, cover him!"

Dropping to a knee, Kylis hurriedly unclipped his HCR from his chest and tossed it over to the injured Aelianus.

"Lieutenant!" he yelled as a heads-up to Aelianus, and slid a spare power pack over to him. In truth, Kylis wasn't sure if the man could still fight, but he wasn't about to let the man die without a proper blaster.

Then he unslung his pulse rifle from his back and took aim.

"On your order, skipper!" Kylis announced tensely, awaiting TP's call. The pulse rifle was accurate enough with the extended barrel and rangefinder to allow Kylis to still fire it non-lethally, but he didn't expect Terrsyn to give that order. These hostiles meant business, but Kylis would not fire until his commanding officer gave the order. This wasn't his operation, after all, it was Pearot's.

I knew I should have brought the other, Kylis thought absently in regard to his SC40 demokits, and a battle cruiser.

 

[Cassanova]

Being left handed had its advantages.

Most cultures that participated in the art of shaking hands did so with their right hands. Being left handed kept his trigger finger mere millimeters from its activation point. So even once there was the surprising, but brotherly embrace, and even once the arrow had loosed from the attacker's, TP brought his rifle to bear one handed with great ease. When it was brought up, he fired several shots from his KI-11B blaster. The rifle, having been modified a little, just to TP's liking, had seen some of its noise dampening insulation removed, and after a accident had cracked the heat shield on the blaster's tip. The result was surprising to say the least. Each time the rifle released one of its bolts, the noise it made was not a gentle pew, but more of a thunderous crack.

The first shot fired and went hurtling into the nearest native.

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

TP's eyes darted to his rifle again checking its power levels and settings. Stun, full capacity. Everything was fine. He brought up his rifle and squeezed the trigger, holding it back firing a four-round burst into the chest of the same native who took a shot to the chest previously. He barely seemed short of breath. TP swore under his breath and yelled at Kylis and Thane, "Stunners don't work! Go hot! Shoot to kill!"

By the time that TP had changed his rifle's setting over to full power, the natives were upon him. With no time to bring his rifle to bear, he simply kicked his boot forward, slamming into the chest of the native. Recoiling, but dropping his tail into the dirt the native snarled before stepping forward to continue his attack. By the time he was anywhere near being able to cause damage, TP had cracked off three loud shots into the creature's chest, dropping him to the ground, the unmistakable scent of searing flesh being filtered out by his helmet's air filter did little to distract him from taking aim at the next target. "Kylis, help me get the Lieutenant down the hill," In one swift movement he spun his rifle around its sling to his back, drew his pistol and tucked his right arm under Atratinus' left. "Serasa! Cover fire. Keep them off our six!"

 

[Jarrow]

All hell broke loose in the space of just a few seconds.

Glancing in front of him to check that their rear was clear, Thane pivoted on his knee, swinging around and bringing his Peacemaker up to his cheek. The area in front of them was swarming with the locals, and they all looked angry. It wasn't hard to literally feel their anger, either, it radiated from them like a wave. He had grown used to not reaching out with his abilities for quite some time, though joining the Rebellion had changed that slightly, but still, it wouldn't have taken any real ability besides a basic sensitivity to the Force to feel that this crowd was not pleased.

"Hostiles on our tail! The LT's hit. Serasa, cover him!"

Thumbing his rifle from stun to full power, he sighted down the weapon and took a crack at the closest of the aliens. It didn't quite go down to a shot in the chest, and so he fired again, this shot sizzling through his head.

In his peripheral vision, he saw TP and Kylis moving to help their target, and he continued to fire, sending several rounds down the street at whoever looked the most threatening at the time. There had been a time when he would have never agreed to simply killing these people, but times changed, just like everything else, and as TP grabbed the Lieutenant, he thumbed his rifle from single shot to full auto, shooting at anything that dared make a move.

"Covering! Go!"

 

[MoreThanSane]

Aelianus let out only the quietest of grunts as the arrow pierced skin, slipping deep into his back, just right of his spine. He fell heavily to his hands and knees immediately thereafter, quickly assessing the extent of his injuries while chuckling silently at his own idiocy. He should have expected Arbon's reaction. One doesn't simply accept godship and then abandon one's subjects.

Aelianus faintly heard a man's voice shout his former rank over the clamor of the fifty howling natives charging them. He turned just in time to see Kylis' blaster arcing through the air toward him. He leaned back to his knees, grimacing at the pain in his back, and caught the weapon as well as its power pack. The arrow had slid deep, at least half its length, and Aelianus knew the injury was severe. He compartmentalized the pain and focused on forcing his body to turn toward the quickly approaching natives. Blasterfire opened up from the men around him.

Aelianus leveled a blaster for the first time in years and pulled the trigger. Hot plasma screamed through the scorching heat, but Aelianus was suddenly unable to tell that loosed by him from that of his compatriots. Eyes blurred, all sound distanced, head bobbed forward. Strong hands gripped him and dragged him along, yet somehow he managed to hold on to the blaster, trigger depressed, until another hand reached down and took the weapon.

Aelianus winced. There was a stick in his chest. A stick. When had that gotten there? Shouldn't that hurt?

Feet made a trail when they were dragged through loose dirt. Two trails. Two trails through the dirt. Cold dirt. Why was the dirt so cold? Aelianus scowled at his feet as they slid through the dirt, completely forgetting the stick. Why was the dirt so cold?

 

[Cassanova]

• Two days, Nineteen hours, Forty-Seven Minutes, Nine Seconds.
• Concussion, chipped rib, punctured lung, severe internal bleeding.
• Thoracic draining, emergency surgery.
• Two medical transfers, three hours in the operating theatre.
• Two blood transfusions, 1,500mg of codeine across 48 hours.

​

Aboard the MC20 gunship that TP had so conveniently arranged to sit back at the edge of the system had proven more useful than he had originally intended. After the injuries sustained by Aelianus on, what Kylis had come to refer to as a, "Kittens Crapping Ground" or KCG - the name TP had more politely offered it temporarily, the three Rebel soldiers ended up having to drag off Aelianus, defending from a hoard of increasingly violent indigenous. It turns out that at some point KCG was, in fact, listed in the directory of planets but had since been removed due to unsafe natural formations. - You got that right...

The infirmary at Ord Pardron had seen its share of battle wounds, blaster bolts, shrapnel - but the base doctor confessed he'd not yet had an arrow come through his room yet. The words, "He's lucky" had been said more than a few times over the course of the three days that Aelianus had been unconcious due to blood loss. TP stayed the entire first day, but his duties summoned him elsewhere on the second, but he had come back in the evening on the third day, and was reassured by the medical team that Aelianus would not only make a full recovery, but be one impressive scar the richer.

Comfortably out of his armour and into his combat fatigues, worn with years of wear, not having the option to simply grab a new pair - the lack of resources was hard on the Rebellion, but they made do. Even Aelianus' surgery was not without trouble. With no bacta or kolto to speak of, they required more traditional methods; surgery, blood transfusions and time. Nonetheless, TP had settled into a chair at the end of the permacrete room that was serving as a hospital wing, scrolling through a detailed list of all on-goings within the Rebellion. It was nothing he couldn't do on-the-run. But he had a feeling that Aelianus would prefer a familiar face when he woke...