Topic: RPG - Stolen Bride

Well I was planning to join in someone else's RPG, but I don't know enough about the Mandalorians or the Vong so I thought I'd start another one (kinda lost interest in The Promised Jewel - sorry!)

Since I'm getting married in 3 days I thought it fun to have a bride to centre things on wink

The Story (set during Empire):

Warring Twi'lek tribes Allo'et and Holmesk have decided to bury the hatchet. To do so the two tribes will combine through the marriage of Kar'bil, son of Gre'natta of Allo'et to Tresh'san, daughter of Oot'ag of Holmesk. The procedings were about to take place when Tresh'san was kidnapped by the Hutts. Apparently the marriage would cause the price of passage for smuggling to increase dramatically. Both Twi'lek leaders have combined their wealth to produce a bounty of 4 million credits for the safe return of Tresh'san and the head of Nalarg the Hutt.

The Rules:

1. You may create any character you want. But please have some variety and clarify their name and species so others can follow their actions easily.

2. You can kill characters you create but you can't kill other people's characters unless they say they have been killed in battle with you. However you can wound them...

3. You can have any weapon you want but you can only have what your character could physically carry - otherwise they wouldn't be able to move.

4. Be consistent, eg if someone says they blew up a building, don't suddenly be assaulting it.

5. If you have sustained many wounds you will have to either get medical help or eventually die.

6. Follow the storyline, sure add a few twists and turns but allow others to see where you want to go so they can help you get there.

7. Have fun.


Kar'bil removed his ceremonial garb and began to slip into his flight suit when his father came in. Gre'natta's white face seemed even paler than usual. "So you are going to try and find her?" He asked.

Kar'bil nodded, "She is the key to our peace. I'm not about to throw our future away to some greedy Hutt." He huffed as he started loading various pistols and riftles into a nap sack.

"Getting yourself killed would also mean the distruction to peace. Your mother and I would also be left grieving." Gre'natta said as he watched his azure skinned son.

Kar'bil stopped to look at his father. "You know I am fond of Tresh'san. Not as a mate as yet, but our bond was growing. I cannot leave her to such an aweful fate."

The older Twi'lek nodded his head in understanding. "I've summoned the bounty hunters. I'll brief them very shortly. You my son can have a head start."

Kar'bil shook his head, one lekku fell over his shoulder. "I wish to team up with one of the other hunters. I do not know what sort of tactics the Hutt's have install for us. I'm a skilled hunter of our land, but not in outer space."

Gre'natta patted his son on the arm. "You are wise beyond your years, son. Come with me, Oot'ag and I shall address the bounty hunters."

BFFC Moderator
It was like thousands of voices cried out for a sequel and were suddenly silenced...

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Kane leaned himself back against the wall, bent his legs in and sat his arms behind his head. He hated Twi'leks, maybe more so than he disliked Nemoidians, but the money was good. Out of all the hunters lurching around the chamber he was perhaps the laziest looking. Eyes half closed, the last person you'd expect to be a bounty hunter. He wasn't expecting to do anything on his own, few of anyone there was able or simple minded enough to go against a Hutt single handed. He didn't expect to get the job anyway. He smiled a little before nodding off, tired from the flight in. He couldn't sleep through Hyperspace jumps, and landing just gave him the jitters. He was more ready for a nap than a Rancor who'd been chasing Luke Skywalker all night.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

3 (edited by SciFifreak90 Saturday, May 6, 2006 12:54 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

((Sorry for using the same old characters Mel, but come on, would our hunters really pass up 4 million credits?))

As the sun of Ryloth dipped below the horizon, a certain SFS GAT-12h Skipray Blastboat tore through the storm-swept sky. The storms were common enough (a characteristic of the Twi’leks’ homeworld), but the helmeted figure who sat in its cockpit, never an incredible pilot, couldn’t help but silently curse the rapidly shifting winds.

Still, the weapon-laden craft made its way to its landing pad easily enough; and, with a more or less satisfactory landing, the gunship known as the Morbis Ferre came to rest at the Allo’et estate, bearing its unbelievably dangerous cargo.

Inside that durasteel hull, a man clad in jet-black armor punched the release on his flight-harness, untangled himself from the mess of straps and buckles, and powered down his ship’s systems one by one. When the last indicator light went from green to red, he hit the ramp release and headed aft.

The ebony figure’s armored boots made a hollow clunking sound on the dull gray floor plating, an oddly intimidating sound that echoed through the tight, short corridors of the gunboat. A BlasTech DL-36 handgun lay holstered at his right thigh, bouncing slightly with each step of his right leg. The holster rode low on his upper leg, with the barrel of the pistol just above his knee, fastened in place with two adjustable straps. A third clip attached the opposite end of the holster to his belt. If one cared to take notice, he would find that the man’s right hand never ventured far from that gun – unless he happened to be carrying some heavier firepower; which, in reality, was very often.

The Morbis Ferre was armed with both proton torpedo and concussion missile launchers, drawing from magazines of 12 and 18 projectiles, respectively. These heavy guns supplemented the vessel’s fire-linked laser turret, with the help of a trio of capital-ship grade ion cannons. The gunwell, while capable of being fired from the cockpit at a fixed, frontward firing arc, was infinitely more efficient when manned separately. As it so happened, the black-clad gunslinger strolling through his ship was very fond of efficiency.

As he passed the ladder leading up to the turret, he heard the muffled sound of cloth sliding on metal, followed by a soft thud. The dark soldier didn’t turn, but his dominant right hand flexed and twitched towards his holstered weapon out of reflex. The man that had slid down the ladder fell into step with his armored companion, joining him silently as he made his way to the cargo area. The walk was a short one, and within a few seconds they were in a rather unique looking cargo bay.

Unique, because it was stacked ceiling-high with gun racks.

The pair’s time-honored and much enjoyed ritual of weapon selection began, and the two spread out among the various weapon cases, grabbing their preferred combination of weaponry.

The warrior in the pitch-black suit pulled a Sorosuub Heavy Tracker 16 from a rack of blaster rifles, loaded it from a separate crate of power packs, and slung it over his shoulder. For years the man had dutifully carried an E-11, a reliable war-horse of a rifle; but in more recent times he’d received comments of mimicking the Empire’s stormtroopers. While he could quite honestly care less about what anyone else thought about his arsenal, he’d acknowledged that it was time for a change, albeit a small one. The Heavy Tracker 16 was almost identical to an E-11 in most respects, with the exceptions of a thicker barrel and a fixed stock. It was considerably more powerful than his old weapon-of-choice, but not exactly as versatile.

Knowing he wouldn’t likely need any more firepower than this, especially when this was nothing but a simple meeting, he opted for a tertiary weapon anyway. Pulling a Merr-Sonn 434 “DeathHammer” and its shoulder-rig from a pistol rack, he removed his rifle, shrugged the holster on, and then replaced the Heavy Tracker. He made certain that his combat knife and HSB-200 hide-piece rested comfortably by his ankles, then receded from the wide array of blasters.

Stepping back to the crate of power packs, the armored figure grabbed a handful of clips and placed them into empty pouches on his belt. He already had another in the pocket of his thigh-holster, and placed two more in the shoulder-rig’s double-mag pouches.

The gunslinger’s friend, who had little in the way of armor but wore a mask over the bottom half of his face, was much less discriminating in the matter of weaponry. His primary weapon and oldest friend, a projectile spread-gun known more colorfully as a shotgun, lay in a holster on his back. That slugthrower had been with him since his life of killing began so many years ago, and had served him with an eerie dedication ever since. While his friend had swapped his E-11 for the Heavy Tracker some time ago, this man would find it impossible to favor any weapon but the one he wore now.

On the black-clad one’s insistence, he’d begun carrying a Sorosuub S-5 in a shoulder-holster, though reluctantly. He’d warmed up to the idea eventually – after the versatile blaster had saved his life on several occasions. He pulled this on presently, placed a wide assortment of knives in various hiding places on his dark clothing, and then stepped back next to his friend.

The ebony-armored warrior, known as Arcuse to his few friends, gave his companion, Sathik, an almost imperceptible nod, which he returned. The shotgun-wielding man, though unarmored for the most part, allowed no part of his skin to show, save his head from the eyes up. And with good reason – he carried a plague in his blood, and more than that, in his breath, his skin, his saliva, anything that came from his body carried death in one of its fastest and most painful forms. Were anyone to make direct contact with the hunter, he’d do well to make peace with his god before long.

The pair strode out of Arcuse’s ship, still not speaking so much as a word. They’d gone through this phase of a hunt dozens of times, mayhap more, and there was nothing much to say. They’d watch, they’d listen, they’d learn; and then, they’d hunt.


4 (edited by BalanceSheet Saturday, May 6, 2006 8:21 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

As a wave of passengers exited the transport Faux Nigell IV into the labryntine city of Kala'uun, it was not difficult to notice the one individual who stood out amongst the crowd.  He walked slowly, a massive entity concealed by a brown, faded trenchcoat and a wide brimmed hat that covered most of his face in darkness.
The tourists hurried off to their destinations within the multi-leveled city, shops, tourist attractions, and whatever grasped their attention like moths to the fire.  The entity stood alone, until the last passengers had long since disappeared into the cavernous expanses of the underground city. 
A large crate sat on the cracked duracrete beside him, battered and worn after long journeys across the galaxy.  The entity turned and hoisted the crate upon his shoulders, then slowly walked off in the direction of the seedier cantina districts.
A passing gang of Twi'lek youths, visably high off the ryll spice prevalent on this world, approached the entity, blasters in hand. The leader, a tall gangster wielding a sawed-off BlasTech E-11, faced the entity with a malicious grin on his face.
"What the frizz we got here, boys? Kriffin idiot thinks he can walk through Black Lylek territ-"
The gangbanger never got to finish his sentence.  Without breaking stride, the entity reached into his trenchcoat with his free hand and pulled out an N'gant Heavy Carbine. 
He pressed the long barrel up against the Twi'leks forehead, and pulled the trigger. In the same millisecond, he turned with inhuman speed to aim the weapon at each of the other gangers, and dispatched them in the same manner.  It was over in less than three seconds.
The entity continued towards his destination, leaving behind the smoking corpses of the headless Twi'lek youths.

"If you don't want me to eat you.....SAY SOMETHING." 
-Captian Murphy

5 (edited by SciFifreak90 Saturday, May 6, 2006 5:43 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

((By 'enity', did you mean 'entity'? I was wondering if maybe I was wrong, but apparently not, because there is most definitely no 'enity' in the dictionary.

And cry all your collective pardons, but I can't help flaunting the firearm knowledge. In advance, this is all from memory: that N'gant heavy carbine is more specifically known as the N'gant-Zarvel 9118 Heavy Carbine. There is an error with that concerning the picture in the Star Wars Arms and Equipment guide. The picture under the N'gant-Zarvel is Boba Fett's EE-3, and the Star Wars Guide to Weapons and Technology shows it as the EE-3, showing contradictions with the two books. Just a little useless knowledge proving that I have no life apart from guns.))


Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

(Oh.  Well that's good to know.  I was basing it out of that book, which does have a lot of errors in it. smile're right.  I'll go fix the spelling on 'entity'.  Thanks.)

"If you don't want me to eat you.....SAY SOMETHING." 
-Captian Murphy

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

((No problem.))


Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

The small, one man scout craft settled roughly on Ryloths uneven surface.  It was dark green in color, with various burn and scrape marks adorning the durasteel exterior.  With a snap-hiss, the canopy popped open in a jet of steam.  A lanky figure vaulted over the side and landed with a dull thud on the ground.  He was about 5' 10", and was covered from head to toe in heavily modified stormtrooper armor.  Along with various upgrades, the armor was a dark gray color with numerous blood-red streaks on his torso, legs, arms, and helmet, which gave him a tortured apearence.  A well-worn blaster carbine was cradled in his left arm, and a long-barreled pistol was strapped to his left leg with a reinforced holster. 
  Vir Ailes, renegade Imperial, cracked his neck.  He turned his head towards the ship, and then banged on the hull with a armored fist.  A dark, void-like creature fell out of the cockpit and hit the ground in a heap.  "You lousy Imperial, I'm not going anywhere else with you until you get a better ship."  The Defel screeched, his voice nearing the high-pitched tones they got when they were angry.  "If you pay for it, fine."  Vir said absentmindedly, still scanning the landscape. 
  The odd pair were on the planet in hopes of gaining the large reward, The Defel, whose name was Kir'al, had met up with Vir Ailes who was looking for a way to get some quick cash.  Vir, not having much expierience in the bounty hunting field, but very good at combat, had gone looking for someone to co-opt with.  Kir'al was promised half the profits and half a pint of Krayt Dragon blood.  He couldn't refuse.  The insane little creature was now doubting his decision.  "Well, lets get started then.  People to kill, money to earn and all that."  He said.  Vir sighed and checked the power pack on his carbine for the fiftieth time and stode after Kir'al, wondering if it was worth.  He had little idea what he was in for.

If ya love me . . .And ya know me . . . And ya've seen me . . .
I'm Old Gregggggggg!

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

((That's for the PM system ARC. And don't quote the whole thing, it's way too long and isn't pertaining to the thread.))


Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Kane stood up, stretched and walked out of the chamber, he'd lost interest no matter the sum of money available. At least for the time being he didn't feel like waiting on a bunch of Twi'leks to talk with him about anything. A few feet away from the door leaned against the right side of the wall he watched some others walk in. Apart from a couple of Twi'leks there was nothing to be seen worth his time. Inside the chamber stood a fairly tall Gand, a trio of whiphids, and a rodian sipping from a dull old flask. A few humans huddled together on one side, a quarren idly watching them play sabacc whislt a short  Sullustan garbled on with a skeletal Givin in a corner furthest from any of the windows. Just as he lost attention with the group around him, a Falleen shoved him out of the way forcing his way in. Apperantly with the female Falleen a  male Kaminoan flittered past ducking their heads as they walked in.
Deciding to actually act like a bounty hunter he studied the others, not a single one of them look too terribly experienced besides maybe three or four. He could expect a few more as well, die hards looking out for the next big fish. The people he should be worried about. He was fairly well off, not anyone well known but someone to be at least a little bit worried of. Someone who doesn't make the big mistakes, and few of the little ones. Of course he could be killed any minute of the day but thanks to a lack of reputation nobody wanted a black charred hole through his heart as much as they would someone like Boba Fett or Bossk.
If it all panned out, he'd take a vacation on Ithor after this. Maybe a week or two of sane normal tourist life. Or maybe he'd buy himself a better ship with a few gadgets to lug along. Buy a set of RadTrooper armor, spend a little time fleeing from everyone else in a radiation storm. If he made any at all, he might as well put it to some use or another. He doubted he'd make it, but you never know.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

4 million credits is no small sum of money. For that price once can buy just about anything he wants: he could buy a ship, set up a small smuggling network; he could buy a small, out-of-the-way planet and become a ruler; he could get just about every bounty hunter in the galaxy working to get back a stolen princess. The probelm with the latter is quality control: you undoubtedly get the best of the best, but you're bound to attract swarms of the lesser hunters that truly are the scum of the galaxy. Looking around Kala'uun, one could see this pestilence infiltrating the city in their customary great swarms, each looking to make his fortune and most, unfortunately, not really knowing how sadly ordinary he was.

One more of these garden-variety hunters stepped out of one of the overcrowded docking bays. His ship couldn't have cost more than an average droid would have: an outdated cargo hauler, basic weaponry only, with a paint job older than most sentients. This alone showed him to be among the least-impressive of the groups at this convention, and any doubts from the ship would be instantly removed upon seeing the man. Basic militia armor from some backwards outer rim planet and a beat-up E-11 that hadn't been replaced probably since before the rise of the Empire gave the impression that this man was one of those types that puts nothing into his work. He wastes away in dungy cantinas, drunk out of his mind until some small-time crime boss contracts him to whack someone, which he does, gets paid, and spends it all on booze. Other hunters in the town gave him a single glance and invariably thought the same thing: no threat here. Which is, of course, exactly what they were supposed to think.

Despite (or, more accurately, because of) his obviously amateur appearance, there was something about this human that no other hunter here (to his knowledge, anyway) had. In fact, they were the ones who all had what he did not. All of the others, the hundreds who had flocked here with the promise of great reward, had a single unifying trait. From the eager teenagers with blaster pistols to the most seasoned hunters in the galaxy, they were all bound by purpose: every single one of them had his mind set on bringing the lady Tresh'san back home and claiming the 4 million credits. In that way, Vorn differed from them. He had no plans to bring the lady back. At least, not yet.

Vorn wasn't his real name, of course. His true name, if he remembered correctly (that was an entirely different life from the one he led now; he only ever encountered the name in his bank account, and even then he had trained his eyes to avoid it) was Iaco Hoban, but he didn't even answer to that now. His employer had once remarked on how similar the man's nature was to that of a vornskyr; it really is an accurate compatison for a variety of reasons that shall not, at this time, de revealed. The name stuck, and anytime he was ever referred to (very rarely did anyone address him directly, they simply talked about him) Vorn was the name they used. Vorn himself had no problem with it.

He began walking down the hallway away from his meager excuse for a ship, following the general flow of the mercenary crowd knowing it would lead him into the palace. He already knew where it was, of course, but no one could know that he knew: a low-quality hunter like he obviously couldn't know what he was doing. Go with the flow, do as you're told. That way, no one think that you're thinking for yourself.

He truly did not belong with this crowd. Though bounty-hunting is a pretty loose term as far as occupations go, and sometimes overlaps with mercenary work and the like, Vorn refused to associate himself with all those walking alongside him with guns hanging from their belts. One could look at his job, and theirs, and see no real difference, but to Vorn the difference was one of pure contrast. They were engineers in their trade, and he was an architect: They kill with efficiency. I kill with style. The artist always thinks himself above the layperson, and he was no exception. Unlike a regular artist, however, he had a track record to back it up.

At last the rush of hunters shambling along came upon the richly-decorated entrance to Allo'et Palace, where all the hunters would supposedly learn about their job and then leave and do it. Vorn would be doing the same, in some sense: though his job was different, here he would learn the details and carry it out. To a completely different end, mind you, but in essence the meeting held the same purpose.

Head hunched over and eyes fastened on the hunter before him, Vorn stopped when he found another pair of feet in his field of vision. Tilting his head to eye-level, he found those feet to belong to a guard standing outside the palace door. The Twi-lek was eyeing Vorn unpleasantly, his nose turned up slightly at the scent of old booze that the man positively radiated. He never touched the stuff, of course, but a little exotic cologne was all one needed to make everyone think he was a low-life drunk instead of a professional. A truly perfect disguise fools all the senses of the body.

"Straight across the atrium you will find the Great Hall," the guard said, his nose still wrinkled in disgust. "Lord Gre'natta wishes to brief you ont he finer details of the hunt before-"

Before the guard could finish his obviously rehearsed instruction, Vorn made a raucous noise at the back of his throat and spat a disgusting wad of multi-colored mucous on the Twi'lek's shiny boots. The guard managed to keep his composure, but just barely. Grinning with teeth colored with various shades of brown (dye; as a rule he was a big fan of dental hygeine), Vorn stepped past the guard and into the magnificent palace with the others.

You can never fault a man for having too much pride in his work. Joining the throngs sitting down in the grand audience chamber, Vorn meditated on his performance with a sense of a job well done. If there was one thing about this job he liked, it was this part. The acting part. The rest was just the inevitable outcome.

Step one, infiltrate premesis. Objective complete.

GPI: Fondly regard crustacean

12 (edited by The Yautja Tuesday, May 9, 2006 6:15 am)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Vir Ailes threw the front doors to the Allo'et Palace, causing them to slam into the wall.  He strode inside angrily, his armored footsteps echoing down the quiet space, the Defel right behind him.  They were late now, late because Kir'al insisted on catching and killing some animal that was bugging him.  It had taken a little longer than he had anticipated, due to the creatures suprising speed, but there was nothing Vir could have done to get Kir'al to leave it. 

How this thing ever became a bounty hunter, I don't know. He thought.   He couldn't ignore the certain aura that surrounded him though.  Kir'al was very confident.  Or ignorant.  Ailes couldn't tell.   

As they walked down the hall to the atrium, Kir'al took in all the sights and smells of the palace, and Vir looked around alertly for any sign of a trap.  It was a normal enough looking palace, but one could never be too sure.  Vir learned that from setting traps at an Imperial prison.   

  They were so busy looking around that they practically ran into the guard, who was scrubbing something off his boots and talking to himself.

He snapped to attention, almost causing Vir to shoot him right there.  His nerves were on the edge to say the least. 

"You two, there, You bounty hunters?" He asked in a huffy tone. 

"Yes, we are bounty hunters.  Now, move so we can get by and win more credits then you've probably ever seen."  Answered Kir'al before Vir could. 

The guard looked at this little creature who had dared insult him, and briefly contemplated ramming his pike through the Defel's ribs, and then decided he had better things to do.  He stepped aside and they went through.

"Do you have try everything possible to get us out of this hunt?"  Vir asked exasperatedly once they were past the guard.

Kir'al looked at him through his ultraviolet visor and grinned, showing off a mouthfull of durasteel fangs. 
Vir decided to ask him about that later.  He had a long list of things to ask him,  the
least of which being why he had agreed to do this in the first place.

"I happen to have been on quite a lot of these things, and I know how to win them.  So, don't question me, or my methods.  They are quite . . . unique."

"If by unique you mean insane, then yes.  Yes, they are that."  The ex-Imperial retorted.  Kir'al just chuckled to himself. 

They crossed the atrium and entered the Great Hall, where quite a few bonty hunters were assembled. 
There was a Trandoshan who didn't look too happy, and Twi'lek hunter with what appeared to be a couple dozen thermal detonaters strapped to a bomb vest. 
Mental note.  Steer clear of that one. 

He also noticed a drunk-smelling amateur who could hardly stand up straight.  He grinned viciously under his helmet.  Maybe this wasn't going to be too much trouble.  That is, if Kir'al didn't kill them both.  However, despite his obvious faults, the Defel was quite funny once you got to know him better.  Ailes hoped he would be of some help, because he didn't wan't to have to shoot him. 

Vir sat in a nearby seat and removed his helmet.  He polished the lenses with his glove, and set it beside him.  Relaxing just a little, he adjusted the sights on his carbine higher with a small tool.  His soldier's intuition forsaw some long-distance shootingin the not-too-distant future.   Kir'al just stood next to him and hummed something. 

For now, all they had to do was wait.  The hard stuff would come later.

If ya love me . . .And ya know me . . . And ya've seen me . . .
I'm Old Gregggggggg!

13 (edited by BalanceSheet Wednesday, May 10, 2006 7:47 am)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

The entity arrived at the Allo'et Palace.
It was a massive structure, covering thirteen stories of the underground city, a dominating presence over the seedy cantinas and taverns populating the area.  Elaborate mosiacs and carvings, detailing the history of the Twi-lek people, and the pompously elegant buttresses stood in stark contrast with the poverty and decay of the buildings around it.
He approached the Palace guard, who had just emerged from the guilded doorway and taken his post, bearing a ceremonial pike and a look of mild annoyance on his face.  The entity climbed the staircase, still carrying the durasteel chest on his shoulder. 
"Another bounty hunter...just excellent." The guard was clearly tired of the constant arrivals, and just as anxious for the hunt to begin. 
The entity stopped in front of him.  The Twi-lek was a tall sentient for his species, yet stood entirely within the entity's shadow. shavit the guard thought to himself.  What kind of monsters has my master summoned? 
The entity reached into his trenchcoat with his free hand.  The guard tensed, preparing to defend the entity pulled out a keypad device, and began punching in a series of letters.  With a sharp crackle of static, the device began speaking for the creature that carried it.
"--Where is...HUNT.--"
The guard relaxed.  "Inside past the atrium, in the Great Hall.  You'd best hurry...Gre'natta should be preparing to brief the hunters any minute now."
The entity turned as he shealthed the device within his coat, walking past the guard, through a dusty beam of light reflecting from the upper levels, and into the doorway .  The guard would later convince himself that he was mistaken, but for one moment, when the light was just right, he could have sworn he had seen the faint glow eyes, shining brighter than any humans, yet dim in the shadow where his face belonged.
The entity entered the palace.

"If you don't want me to eat you.....SAY SOMETHING." 
-Captian Murphy

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

“Four million creds! For that kind of bounty not only would I find the ***** but I’d skin and stuff her, lest she stray too far from her master again!”
The loud boisterous bellow of the grossly inebriated weeqauy carried over the hushed chatter of the cantina’s inhabitants. Many of the drunkard’s accompanying riff raff fell about the place in uproarious laughter. Two twi’leks that had been gossiping about the feuding family’s current nuptial tragedy stood up with a look of up most disgust. The male Twi’lek stood defiant with clenched fists staring down those who had insulted a future matriarch of his home world; his skin sank into a deeper shade of red flagging his anger towards the band of giddy miscreants. Suddenly the laughter died down and the once playful offenders gave him cold stares whilst their hands slowly slid towards their blasters. The bold twi’lek stared down the motley gang until the soft caress of his female companion soothed his soaring anger. Her soft whispers seemed to calm the offended male as she led him to the Cantina door afraid if any injury befell her beloved. The vexed male threw one last glance of pure repulsion before making his leave through the door. The weeqauy leader clipped the buckle over his holster making a snickering remark in the process.
“Women! If there’s one thing you can count on. It’s their ability to deflate your ego.” He then made a smug grin as he moved his hand from his blaster straight to his crotch pretending to crunch the contents. 

The Gang cackled at their leader’s final remark . The remaining patrons fearful of trading glances with the threatening throng began chattering again trying to cut the awkward silence that their boisterous laughter had left in wake. All on lookers were willing to let this insult go, except one. He had no quarrel with these creatures nor did he hold any high esteem for the Twi’lek race. All he saw was a group of ill-mannered scum who could never fathom the powerful link of affection between a male and female of any species. Two crimson eyes darted around within the darkness beneath the stranger’s black hood scrutinizing the bottom feeders across the room from him. He studied their movements carefully readying himself for his move. He didn’t know why he was so willing to confront them but something inside his heart urged him on.

He remembered the affectionate gesture of the female who had saved the defiant twi’lek only moments before. She let him know that his pride wasn’t worth the risk of death, she wanted to awake the next day with her lover beside her, and not in the endless unknown of the afterlife. The cloaked stranger exhaled deeply as he glided through these thoughts. Suddenly his eyes widened  as the bitter sting of his own experiences ensnared his contemplation. Memories that once lay dormant filled his head with violent thoughts. Rage slowly building inside of him through every fiber of his being. He remembered a face screaming in pain, a face he loved dearly.
He whispered. His brain became a maelstrom of shattered memories fueling his hate and anger for the scum that sat only a stone throw away from his position. Suddenly a surge of force energy blasted from beneath his robes shattering  all the glasses and nectar bottles within the cantina. Fear instantly took residence on the faces of the disturbed onlookers as all eyes shot towards the source of the blast. The cloaked stranger leaped from his chair as if possessed by an entity too immense to be housed by his frail mortal body.
“You took her from me!!!” He screamed
The gang of once bold thugs looked desperately at one another trying to comprehend whether any of them had dealings that may have impacted upon this foreboding figure. Somehow they knew that the comment was directed at them and they dealt with it in the only way they knew how. Weapons were drawn, tables were upturned and a cacophony of blaster fire filled the small cantina.

"We aren't men disguised as dogs. We're wolves disguised as men."--Fuse's superior to Amamiya Kei

15 (edited by True Warrior Friday, May 12, 2006 6:57 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

That was cool! and welcome to the boards Jodo Outkast. smile.....and, uh.....check your private messages wink

{MW} [color=#FF0000]"Death and Destruction to our Enemies!"[/color]
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Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

((We have a separate thread for welcoming. And if we don't, then we should. But indeed, an extremely well-written post Outkast-sai.))


Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Great post Jodo Outcast!.....i welcome you to the boards also and am glad you are getting involved.

                                                                            {MW} MS9

“(I’m) Just a fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the a$$.” -John McClane

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

The gang consisting of two Rodians, one Trandoshan a Faleen male and their weeqauy leader all  fired frantically at where they’re mark once stood. The gunfire stopped as the gang realized in the confusion they’d let they’re blasters overheat. The trandoshan hissed in outrage as he dropped the sizzling blaster rifle. The Faleen tried to mend his weapon with a coolant charge but his jittering nerves were making the task very hard. Most of the cantina patrons had fled from the gun fight as soon as the first shots were fired.

“Did we hit him” inquired one of the rodians.
“Well don’t ask me barve! Go and check yourself.” The wee quay leader scorned.
The Rodian peered from behind the shelter of his upturned table and pulled back waiting for the residual blaster smoke to clear. When the haze faded The Rodian only saw an empty corner where the should be dead challenger would’ve been. Only a wall scared by blaster fire and the remnants of a cantina booth remained. 

“Then where is h…” The Rodian’s words were cut short by the sound of steel eviscerating flesh. A flurry of blades slicing through the air with calculated finesse rendered their curiosity with pure bafflement. Standing amongst the horrified gang was their target whirling what only appeared to be two sets of Vibro blades fastened to the blade slinger’s wrists. The graceful well trained movements suddenly climaxed into a spectacular wide arch off the surrounding area. When he finished the rotation of death he halted to witness his work. His foe’s remained statuesque for a moment then slowly the intricate incisions marked by blood began to appear all over their forms. The victims all exhaled in unison the motion causing their bodies to collapse into a pile of bloody chunks. In automatic response the smirking killer retracted the set of blades back into the sleeves of his robes. As he surveyed the signs of conflict around him he directed his attention to the holographic billboard the victims were once appraising. His eyes scanned the bounty credentials.

“This could be interesting, very interesting.” His tongue carried the distinctive and elaborate hissing sound of a Chiss backed by a dark powerful resonance that was all too familiar to the likes of the sith. As the blood lust slowly faded from his mind he began to grasp the full potential of his rage and how it had utterly destroyed people around him that he mildly disliked. He tried to fathom the potential results of his rage targeted on someone he truly and utterly hated. The consequences of is actions suddenly flooded his head. “ I must leave lest I am discovered.” As soon as he dashed for the rear exit a cold reptilian voice infiltrated his mind.

“Too late Vrax Jadrith.” Vrax panicked slightly whirling around to see who had dispensed the statement. His red eyes scanned the desolate cantina finding no other signs of life and then shuddered at the realization. It was the one who had been searching for him all this time and his sudden outburst of passionate violence mixed with the uncontrollable blast of force energy had created a fault line in the force stream. Vrax knew he had to suppress his bitter rage and concentrate on what was important, surviving. He slowly closed his eyes and took in the air around him at a steady pace allowing his tensed muscles to relax and his mind to drift into the shadow of calm. This would help him avoid the ever watchful minds eye of those who wished to track his movements. Vrax opened his eyes and remained focused on his present task.
“He can wait, the bride is of more importance.” He thought to himself not knowing whether this was true but it helped urge him on with his current course of action.
“Know taking passengers to the Ryloth system, proceed to landing deck 6 gate 13” boomed the loud speaker of the nearest transport docking bay.
“Just my luck.” Vrax looked to the pile of processed space scum strewn across the cantina floor.
“No need to clean up I’m sure the Coruscant sanitation officers will love to sift their way through this mess.” Hissed Vrax as he left the scene of death behind him.

"We aren't men disguised as dogs. We're wolves disguised as men."--Fuse's superior to Amamiya Kei

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Thanks for the welcome guys smile I hope to continue this thread as all the characters seem very intresting. Cheers fellas

"We aren't men disguised as dogs. We're wolves disguised as men."--Fuse's superior to Amamiya Kei

20 (edited by Maltese Kentaiba Monday, May 15, 2006 5:33 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Kane grimaced a little, he'd just recently been through a house fire trying for a bounty. Needless to say he'd had most of the skin on his lower and upper arm burnt off in the proccess and most of the bounty money had gone to medical treatment. Although he wasn't too sure what the doctor's had done whilst he was under, every once in a while the burn marks would flair up in an ongoingly different red pattern. He'd asked about it of course but the doctor had said it was a side effect of the planet's blaze combined with his human biology. Hopefully it wouldn't reach up past where it was now. And then came the waiting, the kind of wait that makes you want to try and speak with a Polis Massan with Ubese sign language in the middle of a Coruscant black out on street level. Not that that wouldn't be entertaining compared to Ryloth, he'd had enough of underground anything on a past visit to Sullust. On the other hand he could make the best of it.
He lifted his hand gun from under his jacket, not equal to a disintegrating rifle but strong enough to singe partway through a Hutt's hide. Unlike a standard blaster he used cartridges, volatile ones with a tendency to take the shooter out more often than the person he was aiming at. But when it did work, he couldn't be more proud of using it. Unfortunately he had no idea what made up the contents of each individual shell. Each shot a semi transparent ball of black and white energy. Fairly slow compared to a blaster bolt, but quick enough for his tastes. He slowly whirled the 05 back into it's holster and began a quick paced walk to the other side of the room towards the entrance to the exit.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Kar'bil followed Gre'natta into the chamber housing the bounty hunters. His eyes scanned the current occupants and he felt deflated when he realised neither Boba Fett nor Bossk were present.

Gre'natta seemed to pick up on Kar'bil's thoughts. "You wonder where the key players are, my son?"

Kar'bil nodded. "Surely Boba Fett would not pass up four million credits."

Gre'natta shrugged. "He said his services were already engaged."

"And Bossk?" Kar'bil asked.

"Wanted more bloodshed. Live capture doesn't motivate him." Gre'natta informed.

"Ah." Kar'bil nodded in understanding. "What of IG-88?"

Gre'natta shrugged. "No response to hails."

Kar'bil shrugged. "I guess we'll have to rely on the skills here. Did you contact Reena Narb?"

Gre'natta raised a lumpy brow at his son's question. "Perhaps."

Kar'bil narrowed his eyes. "Did she accept?"

Gre'natta merely looked upon the crowd of bounty hunters as if to answer. Kar'bil snorted and let his eyes follow his father's. Then he saw her. The dark haired human female stood in the shadows of the other hunters, her bronze-coloured armour shone a dull sheen.

Kar'bil's eyes moved to her belt and saw the ancient lightsabre was still attached there. The woman claimed to be a descendant of the Jedi, illegitimate of course. She certainly knew how to weld a lightsabre and use it well, but Kar'bil was yet to see any other powers.

BFFC Moderator
It was like thousands of voices cried out for a sequel and were suddenly silenced...

22 (edited by SciFifreak90 Monday, May 29, 2006 5:55 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

((Ech, I don't like this post. But I didn't know exactly how to change it, and we need to get a move on.))

"Straight across the atrium you will find the Great Hall. Lord Gre'natta wishes to brief you on the finer details of the hunt before you take your leave."

The guardsman spoke with the droning monotony of a man who’d repeated the same instructions for the past hour or two. Arcuse wondered briefly exactly how many hunters had passed him by, how many times he’d had to repeat those same sentences. Then, he dashed the thought away as one might splatter a stirge with a single swipe of the hand.

The Ubese stopped, gave the man a grateful nod, and spoke his first words since leaving the Morbis Ferre:


The behavior was likely to surprise a good many people, had there been any present, considering what he’d done in his years as a soldier. All the shooting, the burning, the stabbing, the breaking, the destruction, the killing...and now this warrior stopped to thank a man for giving him directions.

Even the guard seemed surprised, receiving perhaps the first sign of gratitude he’d had all day. Searching for words and finding none, he merely nodded back. Sathik saw him watching them out of the corner of his eye, his gaze not leaving their backs until they turned the first corner. He shrugged his shoulders to shift his shotgun a bit, then addressed his friend, still facing forward as he did so.

“Awfully sociable today, aren’t you?”

“His duty is much more thankless than ours. He’s a soldier, and no one treats him like one.” Arcuse rasped. His voice, strangely akin  to the sound of two rocks grinding together, was a simple matter of anatomy. Among his own species, he’d have used the Ubese’s little-known sign language, but here his hoarse rasp of a voice would have to do. Besides, he liked the intimidating effect it tended to have on people.

“Well he can go cry me a river – then drown himself in it. Doesn’t that honor of yours ever get annoying? I mean, I can understand some things, like stepping in between me and those two rancors (which he swears he could have killed on his own, as he reminds Arcuse whenever possible), or not killing women; but saving guys like The Butcher, or not making that guard **** his pants (which his voice alone may have quite possibly done), I just don’t get why you do it.”

“In time, mayhap you will.” Was his only response.

“And mayhap I won’t.” Sathik grumbled, shrugging in his shoulder harness again.

They heard the voices before they’d turned the last three corners, and at that moment Arcuse grew uncomfortable. He hated crowds, too many targets, and too many memories that crept into his awareness. A horde of undead things shambling towards Kir’al, Sathik, and he; platoons of Republic soldiers trampling through Ubese garden-fields, a mass of green-eyed monstrosities charging into his blaster fire. That image of splashing a stirge’s innards against a wall popped into his mind again, and the memories were gone. The last thing he needed was memories of Uba III, especially in this place. The resulting rage would undoubtedly get him killed, and mayhap as many as a dozen with him.

The Ubese gunslinger ignored the discomfort that crowds brought to life in him, and continued his walk along the corridors of the Allo’et estate. Not a minute later he and Sathik were standing in the Great Hall, purposefully standing on either side of the massive double-doors. With his rifle slung across his back, Arcuse’s right hand hovered next to the grip of his holstered DL-36, his armored fingers clenching and unclenching.

The black-clad killer had a sudden and impossibly strong urge to draw and open fire, to hell with the consequences of doing so in a hall full of dozens, or even hundreds, of bounty hunters. His hand even closed into a fist around the butt of his pistol, his thumb unclipping the strip of material that held the blaster in its holster. His Heavy Tracker 16 lay forgotten on his back. Arcuse’s mind was now focused on only two things: the pistol on his hip, and trying not to draw it.

“What’s up?” Sathik asked in a low voice, his right hand reaching back over his shoulder for his pump-gun, thinking his friend must have seen something. He’d seen Arcuse going for his gun, and whenever he’d seen that in the past, there was shooting at its heels.

If you intend to shoot a man, to end his life, then by all means draw your gun.

The lessons of old sounded in his ears like drums, beating their meaning into his black-and-white mind. He’d been sent to be trained as an Ubese warrior before his world had passed on. Since the age of eight (though he could no longer remember the exact age himself) he’d been taught to kill, and even in the little time he’d been trained before the most crippling catastrophe of his life, he’d been taught well.

But if you have even the slightest doubt, the smallest second thought about what you’re going to do, then you might as well leave your gun where it is. You maggots are going to be warriors, even if you do look one step above what’s stuck on the bottom of my boot, and warriors live to kill. Do you hear me? Before you have any thoughts about where or when to shoot, decide if you will.

And did he really intend to kill? Or more importantly, why did he even want to? His hatred of large crowds had never escalated to thinning the number of people forcibly, and even the painful memories of his past hadn’t moved him to violence....recently.

He forced his hand to relax, and removed it from the grip of his blaster.

“Nothing.” Arcuse rasped, taking a deep breath. He shook his head, trying to rid it of the anger, and the shame at falling prey to it so fast. Sathik looked at him strangely, but removed his hand from his slugthrower’s stock. He stood easy again with his legs spaced, eyes scanning the room in a wide arc. He made a mental note to ask Arc about this almost-outburst later.

Gre’natta had entered the chamber while the Ubese gunslinger had been so focused on controlling himself, with a younger and well-armed Twi’lek at his heels. Arcuse assumed it was his son, Kar’bil, the would-be groom of this stolen bride. They conversed among themselves for a few moments, and the xenophobe swore that he saw the words ‘Boba Fett’ on the younger man’s lips. He had been curious as to the legendary hunter’s absence in such a well-paying job, but mayhap he simply chose not to appear to such formalities as this meeting.

The elder Allo’et stepped up to a podium placed on the raised tier he and his son occupied, and addressed the assembled bounty hunters.

“You have all been told the basic reason why I have summoned you here today: to rescue Tresh’san, daughter of Oot’ag, bride-to-be of my son Kar’bil,”

He nodded to his son as he spoke his name, who merely nodded to the horde of mercenaries. Another Twi’lek had mounted the tier, looking about the same age as Gre’natta. The black-clad Ubese reasoned that it could only be Oot’ag, then directed his attention back to the Allo’et elder.

“and hopeful daughter-in-law to myself, who has been taken from us by the Hutts. We can only assume that they plan to take her to Nal Hutta, and do Gods know what with her from there.”

Gre’natta’s face was a mask of concern and dismay, clearly sickened by the very idea of having his son’s bride-to-be in the hands of the over-grown slugs. Especially given their partiality to slavery and Twi’lek dancing girls.

“I beseech all of you to help bring Tresh’san back, and end the strife that has existed between the Allo’et and Holmesk families for years.”

The old Twi’lek immediately saw that his little speech had had no effect whatsoever on the hunters. He knew what they wanted to hear, and sighed as he stepped back and allowed Oot’ag to give it to them.

“The Allo’et and Holmesk clans have pooled their fortunes to offer a 4 million credit reward to whoever brings my daughter back. And should any of you have thoughts of throwing in your lot with the Hutts for promises of more...”

The old Holmesk’s eyes blazed fiercely for a brief moment, the way a warrior’s eyes burned in the face of battle. It told the bounty hunters all they needed to know. If anyone helped the Hutts keep his daughter in their hands, they would have a war on their hands.

“Then may the Gods help you.” He finished, his voice low and dark.

Gre’natta stepped forward once more, eyeing his fellow elder strangely for his hateful speech.

“Credits will be transferred upon the release of Tresh’san to Oot’ag at this location. May the Force be with you.”

The hunters, bored by everything except the promise of money, started to file out. Arcuse and Sathik remained however, not immediately joining the outgoing gun-for-hires. Both of them had noticed Kar’bil surveying the crowd of armed men and women, searching for something they didn’t know. Such an armed and motivated man would doubtless be taking part in the hunt/rescue, but if so, why had he not left earlier? Surely, being the son of the employers of this job, he had known the details earlier.

Arcuse looked over at his plagued friend, who merely shrugged, as if to say I don’t know any more than you do.

The final stragglers left the Great Hall in a ragged group. With no more excuse to stay without directly asking the younger Allo’et what he was waiting for, the deadly pair turned to follow the last hunters out...


23 (edited by Maltese Kentaiba Tuesday, June 6, 2006 1:25 pm)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Kane gulped down the contents of his flask, the burning sensation dropping to the bottom of his stomach. He hoped for once he hadn't taken too much relaxant. From the corner of one sleepy eye he saw the form of a Rattataki woman pushing her way through towards him. He turned his head back and tried to look like he was searching for something. She stood right behind him, arms crossed, not very welcoming at all. He finally turned, the glare he was given reminded him of stories he'd heard about Asajj Ventress. Of all the creatures in the galaxy he'd rather enjoy meeting a blood carver over a Rattataki. She wore a plain jump suit, bald pale white skin. She reminded him of a ghost rather than an actual being.
"Out of my way."
He moved off to the side, she picked up a piece of fruit, bought it and walked off. He shook his head, and walked off in the direction of the space port docks. Not too hurried, he took a glance around him, it wasn't exactly something to call home about. Sitting a slight ways away from the dock was a guard arguing with what looked like a wingless giant bug demanding to know where his ship had gone. The guard on duty was absolutely terrified, although he didn't exactly feel sympathy for either one of them.
He took a few steps out, talked with the other guard not being yelled at and found himself in front of a fairly good looking slightly beat up Imperial lander.
"May I speak with you for a moment sir? I'd like to know if you're taking on a co-pilot?"
The figure behind him was almost entirely humanoid, as far as he could tell anyway. The right side of the woman's face was completely covered, a thin metal plate that looked like it had been welded on from a certain angle and from another it wasn't giving out any secrets as to how it stayed on. He popped the door, and took a short step in.
"Sorry to be asking you but my ride just lost his ship,"she pointed toward the bug for a moment ,"I need to get off this planet, no matter what, I'll even pay you if I have to. Just please let me come along!"
"Lady, if you can fly this thing, I ain't stopping you."
She smiled innocently and walked in with him, shutting the door behind her. He let her take off, gulping down a large swig of relaxant. He hated space travel, just hated it. Other than that, there was this nagging feeling he should have asked a few more questions. At least she wasn't kidding about being a pilot. He'd probably wake up tied up, thrown to a back corner of the ship with his luck though.

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)

Re: RPG - Stolen Bride

Kinda quiet, too bad, we were really getting it going finally

I'll abdicate at the drop of a hat
(BFFC Moderator)