Ask Tething Troubles

[Nor'baal Desilijic]

Location: Teth, the Outer Rim

Punching out of hyperspace above Teth, the Minstrel-class space yacht wasted no time as it swept down into the skies of the planet below. Its occupant, the garrulous Nor'baal the Hutt, was wasting little time in ensuring his mission was completed. Beneath them, an old B'omarr Monastery was perched high on the top of one of the planets famed spires, long-since abandoned by the religious order that had called it home, and now a hiding place for refugees fleeing the war.

Teth was out of the way, and this temple was easy to defend from ground attack - the ideal place for one to hide from a war, or, in his case, for one to found an empire.

As the ship continued its descent, ignoring the incoming hails of the monastery, Nor'baal took great pains to make himself look as menacing as possible. Bedecked in his armour, and astride his 'war chariot', which his droid improperly called a 'sledge', Nor'baal felt every bit like the warrior-Hutts of old. At his hip, a Neuronic Whip would be found, whilst to his sides stood Gurp and Burk, each struggling to hold two slathering Corellian hounds.

With a thunk, the ship touched down, and the boarding ramp lowered. Nor'baal moved down the ramp on his sledge, halting at the bottom, and surveying the small gathering of refugees who looked up at him with clear looks of confusion on their faces.

<Faee, koudaniua dotkola! Tah planeeto doth ateema bu catabola dee hutta Yih Pohka!>

His deep booming voice cut across the assembled refugees, as Nor'baal raised his fist triumphantly as he made his declaration. Now, if only they'd lay down and surrender, this would be a great day.

@jor don @vamp @Tulos

OOC - Will roll for opposition strength in the next round.

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music OOC

No, they didn’t, at least not yet. It wasn’t until a lone figure emerged from the shadows of the ship and began to slowly descend the ramp that those refugees had seen the bounty hunter. The timing couldn’t have been better.

Smoke curled upward from the cigar between his lips, going one way while he went the other; though while that smoke disappeared the one who blew it kept on going. Such could be your fate, refugees, if you refuse your gift.

Jon Dromon didn’t have to say so out loud. He watched them. They watched him, and some of them watched the blaster at his hip. It was evident from the gathered faces what his presence was supposed to represent.

Nor’baal had raised his fist but these folk were fools if they thought the Hutt’s fist was his own fleshy hand. They’ll find out soon enough...one way or the other... One way or the other way, there will be blood.

@Nor'baal

 

[Fen Maleco]

Oh, what one did for credits during a cold war. Fen had seriously considered joining the Sector Rangers after accepting this job, reasoning that if he had to spend all day working on bullshit, he might as well be helping others. He had even done it, until he remembered that the Sector Rangers were every bit as conniving and cruel as any scoundrel, but made less money. They did it out of pleasure.

And here he was, on a luxury yacht with a Hutt that seemed to have illusions of grandeur and considered himself a sort of warrior. The display was laughable, but Fen simply kept his mouth shut and his helmet on, not at all showing what he thought of this situation. He was here to do his job, and that was it. That was what he would do.

Their yacht grounded on a massive hill and the door slowly slid open, revealing a bunch of huddling refugees staring up at them with dismay. Oh, so it can get worse.

The Hutt garbled something in Huttese (which Fen understood, since he was fluent) and the refugees simply stared back. It was bold of Nor'baal to assume that absolutely every being in the Galaxy spoke Huttese, but then again, that was just typical Hutt for you.

"He said you are now on Hutt Cartel property."

He gripped his blaster a little tighter.

@Nor'baal @Die Shize

 

[Nor'baal Desilijic]

"He said you are now on Hutt Cartel property."

There was a palpable silence over the landing area, interrupted only by the soft hum of the engines of the yacht as Nor'baal surveyed his new 'domain'. Everything was going to plans, and Nor'baal allowed himself a brief moment to bask in his genius - once again, Nor'baal the Hutt had outsmarted his enemies and all without a single drop of blood being spille—

"I don't think so, slug."

A commanding voice cut across the group, as a barrel-chested man with arms as thick as a wookiees stepped forward. Nor'baal knew this point of reference to be accurate, as the huge humanoid was flanked by two Wookiees himself, who looked remarkably at home with the large axes they carried in each furry fist.

"Beat it slug. This place is under the protection of the Skyblades, and if you want it, you need to get through me." with a jab of his thumb into his chest, the man made his position known.

<Ba badtihbe nebola. Uba yae see duidy, an mee Wooky bpuoiaee doth nobata bauicaka um baw wah koee dee Yih. Dromon, Maleco, koose mi heee kohcha homechah- banieie! Jee lwaa bargon cay tah ' human', ka kee!>

With an outraged holler, Nor'baal thumbed the command controls on his sledge, and lurched forward into combat, his cleaver held high - as battle was met.

OOC - Rolls here.

 

[Fen Maleco]

Tensions rose as a man came into the scenario, claiming the planet was under his jurisdiction, and basically telling them to go away. Fen had seen this happen to Nor'baal before so it was no surprise, but he hated to be in the center of the action this time.

When Nor'baal had just started his monologue, Fen lifted his blaster and shot the leader right in his barrel chest. Two bolts struck the head of the Skyblade, soaring through the air almost as if in slow motion. They left a charred crater in his chest and those near the man would later report the smell of burned flesh.

And then all hell broke loose.

Fen dodged for cover in the face of the numerous assailants, hiding behind a crate of what Nor'baal had claimed where food and other necessary supplies. A bolt struck the side of the crate, leaving it open, and a mass of bullfrogs jumped out, ribbiting through the battlefield. The smuggler rolled his eyes.

And he stayed there behind the crate for now, trying to decide if his life was worth the promised amount of credits the Hutt claimed he would get at the end of the mission. The credits probably didn't exist, but that was fine. It only gave him further chance to extort Nor'baal later on down the lane.

So he got to blasting.

@Nor'baal @Die Shize

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Hutt Cartel property, Jon sighed through smoke. I don’t think they like the sound of that.

They sure didn’t. Barrel Chest represented the resistance, what handful of souls were brave enough to stand against the threat they could not quite comprehend.

The Skyblades, they were called. Fitting, since they will fall like blades defying gravity… Might sound heroic, yes, were it not for the lifeless sentiment.

Nor’baal had thusly claimed the Human for himself, leaving the Wookiees for his hands, and while those hands amounted to four, well, two of them were gunning for someone else.

Jon, meanwhile, stood atop the ship’s ramp, leveling his height with his Wookiee counterparts. Large axes, eh? Not much good from this distance.

PHWOM! PHWOM! PHWOM!

Wasting no time, Jon plugged a bolt for each furry chest, banking on at least one to hit, and sure enough only the third missed.

The first two plugged the Wookiees smack-and-smack, knocking them over, while the third missed the Skyblade leader but…ah well no matter Jon’s partner was taking care of that front.

@Nor'baal @vamp

 

[Nor'baal Desilijic]

Nor'baals blaster boomed as the violence started, and he moved forward on his hover sled, taking out the driver of the remaining Skyblade, sending the speeder skidding into the ground. ""Forward! For the Cartel!" the Hutt bellowed, as he fired shot after shot from his wrist blaster, before gliding stepping up to face the leader of the group directly. A

A heavyset human, with about as much neck, as he had brawn, the leader looked Nor'baal up and down and sneered.

"As if I'll be beaten by a filthy slug!"

He was interrupted moments later, as a neuronic whip cracked, and slashed itself once across his chest, and then cracked backward, before snaking forward in a slicing motion and wrapping around the man's neck. Nor'baal yanked the man to his knees, and loomed over him. "Beg for mercy." he instructed, as the mans eyes got wider and wider, before finally vanishing in a bloom of red, as Nor'baals cleaver swept down, and removes his head from his shoulders.

 

[Fen Maleco]

There were a ridiculous amount of opponents ahead, and Fen was a bit out of shape when it came to gunfights, but he was surprisingly holding up well. So was the Hutt, which was a bit unnerving to see. The slug had a surprising amount of ferocity and cruelty hiding within its slimy flaps of fat, which only made him all the more freakish. Fen hoped this job would be paid well because he was thinking about retiring from his life of crime.

A glancing hit on his right shoulder snapped him out of the train of thought, and the smuggler turned toward the culprit. A Cathar man, who he promptly blasted in the forehead with his sniper riffle. Then he shot the man's companion. Then another, and then he ducked.

"Nor'baal! Jee canta tah doth bimapa bai doth wa momeu semuacoka ketea?" he roared over the blaster fire.

@Nor'baal @Die Shize

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music OOC [Recurring]

Those Wookiees were strong, those Wookiees were stalwart, and those Wookiees were dead.

Theirs had however managed to stir the pot, more of a boiling cauldron, as bystanders in the midst sprung to action—and blaster levers and triggers sprung with them.

Dance! Jon could no longer afford to stand still upon the ramp. He skipped off of it just as a barrage of bolts smacked into the hull where he had once been.

His pistol responded. The shooter fell, the carbine falling with him, though what might have been the dead man’s brother just then howled and seized the blaster.

All right. Jon held his own, kicked someone else into the line of fire as he glimpsed Nor’s parade of carnage from his sled, and waited for the would-be brother. Let's dance together.

“YOU’RE A DEAD DUROS!” the man cried, squeezing off aimless flurries that reflected only rage.

"No," Jon disagreed with a well-placed bolt to the barrel and the blaster out of the brother's hands. "Just a Duros."

@Nor'baal @vamp