The Pit (The Faded Shroud)

[Mike]

[OOC: This thread is meant to represent the base of operations, the Pit, of the Faded Shroud. Talk to your associates, form a team, get missions from the Voice, seek medical attention, or upgrade your weapons or armor here.]

Madrar Ro sat at a console on the Bridge of the ancient derelict that served as her home. The Pit was configured more for functionality than for luxuries, but there was nowhere in the galaxy more safe or secret, and she felt pretty comfortable here. It sure beat scrounging around the streets like a glorified vrelt. Here she had a crew to command; an organization that respected and looked up to her. Her years in the Shroud had paid off.

Madrar looked up from her work as the door to the bridge hissed open and Thaw floated in on his hoverchair. "Is Dominico alright?" she asked, wanting to keep an accurate idea of her team's status and readiness. Thaw paused and replied before returning to his station. "He'll be fine. Nothing broken." Thaw called up some schematics and began to key through them faster than her eyes could follow. She gathered that it had to do with a particularly virulent toxic gas that he was working on weaponizing though, and the thought sent a slight shiver down her hardy spine.

Thaw had proven to be an enormous asset to the Shroud. He'd made his considerable skills available to the guild, overhauling their intelligence and communications systems, upgrading the machine shop, and churning out professional quality fake IDs by the crateload. He'd even spent a considerable amount of time and energy designing and manufacturing a cutting-edge prototype stealth field generator for her, and he'd won her trust and respect. She was just glad he was on their side.

 

[Dwarf]

Domenico strode into the small room, his duster pulled tight around himself, arm still stiff from the painkillers and bandages. Waving off any forthcoming concerns about his wound, he snorted, spat and cursed his own stupidity. A stupid little security guard, more accustomed to mopping up vomit and pointing the way to bathrooms, a worthless little hired hand has hurt him!

The Voice hadn't been pleased. Da Silva had never seen him fly into such a rage. How had da Silva dared to put himself into such a position? Didn't he understand the enormous investment that the Voice had sunk in him? What impertinence, what disrespect, what outrage! Domenico had suffered the tongue lashing in stoic silence, knowing that the Voice would never dare to lay a bony finger upon him.

After fifteen minutes of spittle-flecked rage had subsided, the Voice had snorted, and motionned for someone to come out of the shadows. A minor underling of the Void pushed back a dark velvet curtain, revealing himself as well as his burden. Carried by this disciple had been a silvery chest, as wide as it was large. Depositing it as da Silva's feet, he repeatedly bowed and backed away, disappearing once more.

"Open it," the Voice has commanded, an order that da Silva had happily complied with, much to his joy. Within the confines of its protective foam casing was a silvery set of glittering chainmail, an anachronism which seemed strange in this world of blasters and explosives. Da Silva ran his fingers through the ringlets, feeling the metallic circlets run through his hands like water.

"It's a durasteel alloy, infused with thermal-dispersing aluguard. It'll protect you from blade and blaster, but stay away from lightsabers! There's only so much we can do with a mangled body."

Domenico remembered this fondly, the first mark of respect that the Voice had ever laid upon anyone. This set of armour must've cost a fortune, easily setting the guild back three or four contract's worth of profits. Subtly worn under his tunic and duster, it weighed barely a few pounds, and felt like nothing more than a heavy shirt. Turning to Madrar, the Shrouded Hand, he murmured:

"We have a job to do."

 

[Mike]

"I know you do." Madrar Ro said crisply. Too right she knew. She knew just about everything that happened in the Pit. "You'll need an expert to get into Merilian's fortress though. He's spent a small fortune on security, even some combat droids. They won't be smart, but they'll be damned persistant. I want you to take Alex and Thaw with you." Madrar signaled to Thaw who ignored her for a brief moment as he shut down his various applications and stored them carefully on his datapad.

He then keyed his hoverchair to spin and head out towards the Bridge doors and the Hanger. "We'll find Alex and be off." he said "We'll be back before you know it."

"I know you will." Madrar replied with the hint of a grin. She was nothing if not confident in her assassins. Thaw hovered off the Bridge, beckoning Dominic to follow.

 

[Valshot]

Aonin leaned back in his chair holding a cold tin cup in his hand. Tapping his right foot to the constant music coming from his surroundings. He was in need of something to do.

His eyes looked up, following a slender metal frame with patches of rust and blaster wounds. There was exposed wires protruding from the droids head. Every so often you could see the slightest amount of energy soar by the bare entanglement that was wires. The droid seemed to have a twitch. It's head tilting ever so slightly every few minutes. "Ey, Buckethead I need another."

"S-s-sir. I think you-u've had enough," The droid responded as he poured another glass for Aonin.

"Did I ask you how many I had? Or did I ask for another?"

"You-u're right. How foolish of me to insult the great Aonin," The droid twitched with sarcasm.

"Heh, you're lucky I don't buy another droid for this place, you bucket o' bolts," Aonin grabbed his drink and arose from his seat. He gave the slightest wave to the droid. "It's been fun, Buckethead,"

"See you tomorrow, th-e s-same time, I'll assume?" The droid questioned but Aonin had already disappeared from the cantina.

 

[Valshot]

//From: Hard Drivin' A Bargain//

Aonin walked into the now-absent-of-the-Ivory-Bantha-hangar.

Sigh.

"Come on, we need to get this to Madrar so we can get paid.." He beckoned Arch to hurry. He made his way down a narrow hall that led to one of the only working turbolifts left in the ship. He got on with Arch at his side and It buzzed as it quickly brought them to the part of the ship that contained the bridge. Aonin made his way to the bridge's doors and opened them. "We got the names," He said pointing to Arch who had the datapad in his hand. "Oh, and I might need some repairs on my ship."

 

[Mike]

Madrar took the datapad and thumbed through it. A feline smile crept onto her Bothan features as she read. The Voice would be happy with this one. It astonished her that a pair of drunken rif-raf like Arch and Aonin were able to find their way to the 'fresher, never mind recover data like this. She dismissed it as a fluke.

She tossed a pouch of credits at them, sneering at Aonin's complaint. "That's what your compensation is for smuggler. Go bore someone who cares with your starship problems. Better get it fixed quick or you'll be out of a job." Inwardly she shook her head. These smuggler types were big talk, but now Aonin was blubbering to her for help. Didn't they realize that the only reason she allowd them on the station was because they were occasionally useful acting as glorified airtaxi pilots?

 

[Valshot]

"Oh gee, thanks.." Aonin left the bridge, mumbling as he descended down the turbolift, and made his was back outside to the lush green of Myrkr. The Ivroy Bantha sat in the sea of grass. Aonin made his way to the idle ship to inspect the damages. There were severe lacerations on the bow's hull. They were definitely caused by the dense forest that had flown through. The ship itself wouldn't be able to fly in space or very fast for that matter, without being ripped apart. On the otherhand he'd be able to fly the ship into the hangar.

Aonin crawled back into the ship through the small opening that the ramp produced. One of the many things that needed to be fixed. Aonin started the engines. They rattled more than usual. Aonin maneuvered the ship into the hangar almost hitting the Azrael that was currently docked.

He would have to hurry and repair everything that was necessary before his next mission. He would start with the hull, which needed extreme repairs. He grabbed tools from the cargo hold of the ship and made his way to the exit ramp, which he kicked down for a second time. He began his repairs on the hull.

 

[Snuffalupagus]

Arch silently listened to the conversation between Madrar and Aonin. He wasn't about to compain about the way the Shrouded Hand ran things. There was a hierarchy that Arch respected. Plus he liked the work. It was simple and brought home the credits. Everyone knows what credits buy - booze.

Although he was sorry about the ship, Arch wasn't about to spend his "hard-earned" credits on the repairs. If Aonin possibly asked for help, he might lend a hand, but until then, he would drink. Hopefully not alone, though.

"Hey, Maddy. How's about you and me grab a drink or two down at the ol' cantina? I've got a proposition for you that involves knocking some boots." Arch tilted his head and arched in eyebrow in a seductive manner. "I should clarify; the boots will be knocking peoples' heads in. Meet me in the cantina if you're up for it."

Arch made his way down the cantina, admiring the dull steel walls and tiled floor as he did. Once he arrived, Arch began made a laundry list of drinks order for Buckethead.

"How do you do, metal face. I've got a request. Since my mission was so very successful, I'd like to purchase some victory drinks. Let's start off with a nice bottle of ale - hailing from Rodia, of course. Follow it with a nice concoction of mead..."

-------What seems like 16 cycles later-------

"...finally topping it off with a nice Corellian ale." Although it was impossible for droids to sweat, Arch could swear he saw a bead of moisture run down Buckethead's face.

 

[Valshot]

Aonin's repairs on the ship were coming along smoothly. With a nice torch and some elbow grease he was able to repair most of the hull with metal pieces that were strewn across the large hangar. They would only rust away anyway.

Aonin attached the last piece of metal to the hull. He aimed the torch across the border of the metal and the ship. The hot white flame from the torch melted the hull and the sheet of metal into one. "Well, that's done. It's not beautiful, but it works.." He said with relief. The Ivory Bantha would be able to fly again, but the ramp was still not functioning properly.

Aonin made his way to the ramp and pulled it all the way down so that it was touching the hangar's floor. He then proceeded to tinker with the pistons and the air compression system of the ship. Hopefully with some luck he's get the ramp working again.