Log:Distressful Pickup
Two people in distress are in need of help!
OOC Date: February 13, 2021
Location: Felucia
Participants: Aubrei, Trip, Zelo Parrai, Bizz Bliptettjupp, Hadrix Kora, Hapvarnna, Rathe Kora
Felucia. A wild planet with its share of natural dangers at any given point is the sight of a distress signal spread broad range over the system. Coordinates are given as a focal point and pick up location for whoever is stranded down there. Granted with it being such a planet the risk of pirates is great.
The vast jungles are teeming with life and local fauna that survive the primal way without any interruption of civilization whatsoever. But as the crafts that enter atmosphere begin to approach the coordinates they will see the long furrow in the jungle where a ship had taken out the proud and tall vibrant trees until it had come to a resting spot at the end of its plummet. Its a wreck, that much is clear but because of its ground tearing descent there are places to land and this is exactly where the coordinates have indicated to do so.
Its growing dark, the orange light of Felucia's sun spreading the last bit of guidance around the jungles but even then some of the shadows have grown too long and amidst them, a good quarter a mile away from the wreck is an armored figure and a shorter leporid. They are making a trek away, completely undetected beneath the dense canopy by those approaching overhead.
IN A SEPARATE LOCATION ON THIS HELLISH MOON (?).. PLANET (?).. PLOON. YES PLOON.
Two ears stand erect before the small cranium of a white furred Lagomorph creature rises. There is no adjustment period required for his eyes to make out the terrain of their chosen hide-away, a cave a half-mile from the location of their beacon.
It is night, and the fair Aubrei (as Trip calls her) slumbers, yet there is sounds. Trip, a spacefaring Kushiban who has spent his ENTIRE life around ships, and spacers, hears the telltale of starship engines flying overhead. So too, does he hear the stir of nightlife, as fanged CREATURES OF DEATH mumble and grumble about their nightly rituals of hunting be disturbed by the UNSANCTIONED arrival of vessels.
Rising from the bedding where he lay, the Kushiban paws at the sleeping Mandalorian named Aubrei to stir her from her slumber. "FAIR AUBREI.. our beacon is answered YET.. it is still the middle of night. RISE and grab your giant's WEAPONS.. we must brave this jungle of death if we are to find salvation, yes? COME WITH ME, HUMAN FEMALE.. GET UP ON YOUR GIANT'S FEET!"
He draws his sword (a large serrated knife) and walks upon hind legs to peer outside a moss covered cave, his ears drooping a bit to sag down his back. "What foul entities occupy this jungle, I know not.. but my sword is ready, its thirst for blood unquenched."
Zelo was on his way back to Y'toub, carrying as much corn as his ship could safely fit for a cargo run when he picked up the distress beacon. Pulling it up on his display, the Nautolan makes out that it's nearly the same route that he's currently on, just... Not stopping to unload the cargo he promised to deliver. Nar Shaddaa could wait for Nabooni corn. No telling how long that beacon would last, though. Already plotting the new course in his head, Zelo programs it into the computer and takes the remaining time to Y'toub to get his armor on. This wasn't the time for casual dress.
Arriving in Felucia - around evening on this side of the planet - and still laden with produce, the Lonesome homes in on the coordinates as directed by the beacon. Keen black eyes spot the wreckage with surety before confirming the coordinates to be syncing up with the location, he guides the ship in that direction, moving to land not too far from the wreck, but with enough distance for caution. <<"RZC Lonesome, responding to unknown distress beacon. If you need help, I'm here. If this is an ambush, you picked a bad day for it. Please present yourself.">> The announce comes over the ship's speakers outside, peaking a little over the slightly-rough baritone voice within. Setting down and powering the ship down, Zelo lowers his head and weaves his tendrils into place in the borrowed helmet he'd been left with, raising the helmet until his cobalt face is hidden within. With a few snaps, the helmet is locked onto his armor and the Mandalorian begins moving quickly through his ship, taking two of his guns from the rack in the cockpit - one long, one not quite as long - and slinging them over his shoulders. Quickly, he paces through the cargo bay and palms the cargo ramp control, lowering it. Striding out in green-and-smoke-dappled armor, the Mandalorian looks for survivors, or enemies.
Brother Bizz was some ways away on the planet Felucia, bartering with a village of Felucians for part of their precious nysillin crop. The plant is famed for its healing properties and useful as a cabbage-like slaw ingredient. He has a few bushels in the back of his rickety antique shuttle and is preparing to hop back on the Perlemian Trade Route, maybe stopping off at the Wheel before pushing through to Taanab, when a distress signal comes through. "By the FORCE." The Ugnaught turns his ship around with a groan of the bulkheads and flies to the rendezvous point. The single awkward wing of his ship retracts as he makes his landing.
<"We're coming up near the beacon, Rathe."> days in space, if he didn't have a beard he might look scruffy, if he didn't have his helmet on one could probably see how drawn out looking his was becoming. The Woor'tra was swinging down through atmosphere within range of the signals being broadcast. Head canting to one side when Zelo's voice crackles over broadcasts.
<"Looks like..."> he stops - jaw tightening as he recalls the sponsor of the voice, <"Zelo was in the area as well."> the blockade runner modified VCX-350 landing and ramps beginning to drop even as the Massive Mandalorian makes his exit, rifle slung, pistol in his holster... throwing stars being tucked along his gauntlet.
Loaded for ambushes.
Three beings soar through The Void. The emptiness. It's been a long time of soaring, you know, for the Firebug. For the Hapvarnna. For the Y'grritti - seeking answers and all that. Rakka and Takka have been the best kind of companions for this dream quest. Oh yes. Two, immortal beings, incapable of rest, and not needing food or water? So polite one might hurl? So optimistic, every situation was just a walk in the park? The best companions.
Even better when the two glance at the sleeping Togruta in the pilot's seat, as a beacon pings, sending flickering yellow flashes across the Eta-class shuttle. "Rakka?" "Yes, Takka?" "That is a beacon." "Yes. An emergency beacon." "Takka?" "Yes, Rakka?" "We must answer it. We must, it's our Duty. Our Principle. Ou-" "- Our Purpose."
With no mind for what is occurring, the sleeping Togruta, nude as the day he was born - is sent towards the beacon. Both ZEDs, with their gleaming brass, or shining gold bodies and singular, terribly red cycloptic eye - guide the shuttle through atmosphere. The three laser turrets onboard spring forth from the panels, launching a small barrage into the jungle. A rapid-fire placement of shots to allow the tri-winged shuttle to land. The noise and ruckus causes Hapvarnna to stir awake, "Wh.." Fiery orange eyes staring out of the glass orb, to a jungle. A JUNGLE. "WHY ARE WE LANDED! LANDING? HE DID NOT LAND! WH-"
The argument of intellects three can be heard even beyond the ship, as it sets down in roasted earth.
Coming up to the cockpit, the visor first looks at the man piloting the ship. Rathe's helmet nods and his fist bangs twice on the top of Hadrix' pauldron in acknowledgement. Rathe was randomly non-verbal as of late. Another nod and a grunt can be heard with a crackle of his helmets vox. Rathe considers the Nautolan, whom he has been inadverdently avoiding... along with all other living sentients. <"Talk about him later. With you."> Speaking is a struggle of will for the still-dehydrated Rathe.
He turns wordlessly and starts to step... and nearly kicks poor NimBle in the process. He looks to the black BB Unit, having forgotten he just couldn't bear to leave the little guy all alone in the apartment. <"New rule. One meter distant. For manuevering. 'K?" He nods at the bleeping acknowledgement. He -thinks- it was an acknowledgement anyway, for all he knows Nimble told him to Kriff off.
His left hand drifts to the hilt of his Vibrosword just above his knee. He'd already checked his holstered E-11, and T27 slung on his back. He descends the ramp, and the Vibrosword is drawn slowly and silently. It makes for a hell of a machete in a pinch, which is why he started carrying one so many years ago in the Corps.
Tired. Aubrei stayed up most of the previous night and the encounter with the large creature had left her exhausted, bruised and battered. Trip's sudden reaction and ruckus causes her to groan as she shifts, her ribs aching. "What?" The blonde resting uncomfortably in her armor sits up slowly, rubbing hands at her eyes before she glances at him in their glowing moss strewn cave that has kept them safe through the previous night. "You..wait what?!"
She is up then, instinct kicking in as she ignores the wince that follows. Grabbing her helmet she pulls it on and then begins to load up. Rifle, pistols, clicking her tongue. "Jetta, Mune..get in the helmet." On it goes, covering her blonde hair as the armored woman adjusts everything and braces herself as the helmet's HUD kicks in allowing her nightvision though the change of colors leaves her shaken some.
<"I hear it too..."> Climbing to her feet she moves towards the edge of the cave. <"We have to get to them before the beasts do...">
Speaking of. As the group disembarks there is a sensation of being watched and occasionally the dense undergrowth shifts before them. There are low rumbles and currently no sign of life as the emergency lighting on the ship gives a dull glow that looks more eerie than helpful. Intelligent lifeforms besides the rescuers are no where to be seen presently.
Trip was not going to chance walking ahead or beside, or even behind the fair Aubrei. He attempted for one of her legs and missed, thus grabbing the back of her other and scaling her height to find an eyrie perched atop her right shoulder. His furry feet found purchase between the plating of her armor while his free hand latched onto her pauldron. Pointing the sword out of the cave and into the night, Captain Trip grinned with ears that slowly rose back up. "To our freedom, Fair Aubrei. YAAH! Hahahaha!" Attentive eyes searched their surroundings whilst the Zelosian Mando did what she did best: Pathfind.
Zelo sees the Woor'tra descending, both surprised and unsurprised that even here, in the least likely and backwards place, he still always runs into people he knows. Of course, whoever is in there is likely people that he hasn't seen in a few days, and may have been avoiding indirectly with his excursion to Naboo, but still... People he knows. Probably. He pulls out the E-11 at the sound of turret fire, noting another ship coming in and apparently needing to make its own landing space. Of course, he'd broadcast to the area, so it's not like stealth was an option, but in principle he was a little frustrated. The turret-fire ringing in his ear, he hears little of what's going on, but his eyes are picking up more. Movement in the jungle. He toggles the gun off of Stun - where it had been the last time he'd touched it. Focusing on the beacon, he approaches the ship and begins to climb.
Slightly tough going with some typical footholds obscured by the warp of a crash, the Nautolan pilot is still used enough to climbing ships to make his way to the high ground. Adjusting his E-11, he kneels by the beacon to study it. <<"Hail the Woor'tra,">> Zelo triggers on the Clan's internal frequencies. <<"I'm checking this beacon now. Checks out, it's the one from this ship, but it's been rigged to seven flavors of hell. Rough wiring, retrofit. Someone who knows what they're doing put it back together, boosted the power... That checks out, shouldn't have heard this as far as I did. You know that third party over yonder?">> The beacon's fresh, weather not much of a factor. Couldn't have been more than a few days in exposure. The Mandalorian calls out to the nearby area.
<"Hello, the ship! Anybody in here? Rescue works better if we can see you!"> Subtle, he's not. But he means well.
Brother Bizz hastily puts on some light 'specialist' armor and then puts his holy robes over top. He fetches his energy bow, walking stick, and his repulsor-quiver, attaching the latter to hang low at his hip for ease of springing out new arrows. He walks out of his antique shuttle's landing plank to find a few others responding to the distress beacon. The priest sniffs the air with his pug nose. "I hope nobody is hurt, by the FORCE." The humidity of the jungle hits him like an invisible wall. But it is comforting in a way, reminding him of his home swamp of Gentes. Bizz pauses to peer up at the beacon with his green eyes, not interested in climbing at his age.
This planet. It'd been a time. Fungal beings of various stages in primitive and savage alike. Ships landing would be a likely draw for attention. <<Yes... Later.">> now wasn't the time, no need for that sort of distraction right at this moment. Movement in the trees makes the red pin-light visible in the right branch of his visor move and Hadrix's helmet turns when he tries to follow sounds he can't quite make out.
<<"Copy, Zelo. We were out hunting.">> the growling cadence of Hadrix's speech over comms almost matching the normal distortion caused. Once clear of the ship he lifts off on wings crafted of jet fire, pistol pulled and a pair of the throwing rings tucked between fingers - just in case.
<<"Rathe is here. We'll be to you soon.">>
Trooper's armor donned, is a blazing brilliance so bombastically brilliant it nearly burns out the retinas of everyones eyeBALLS who dareth look upon the tall, horned figure that stands in the shuttle's ramp. On it. Two ZEDs on either side, glimmering and gleaming stare out with singular burning eyes and as normally the Herglic Metal music would start playing right about now...all three are silent. Stiff, even. In Hapvarnna's left hand is a tall 'staff' - an ancient rifle, decorated with beads and teeth, rainbow colors, flames, gold, and so on. His fiery eyes peer out into the dark of the world, but the head turns, the montral pick up distant sounds like antennae do radio stations.
"Y'grrittii?" Most-Brass speaks up. Hapvarnna strrrrokes his sharp chin, and smiles a smile that even from a distance one can see as GOLD. The fangs twinkle in the sun's dying light. "Trap. Mhm, this? This is a trap. Total trap. Trap-trap-trap. You two brought Us into a trap, again, you did. Yes." A wave of annoyance at the two ZEDs who stare out while Hapvarnna turns around and starts rummaging in the shuttle, "Y'grritti?" Comes Most-Gold.
Hapvarnna waves that one off too. "Y'grrittii, what is it you plan to do? The beacon must be answered. There could be injured. There could be...CRIMINALS." The last word echoed by both in a mechanical growl.
Hapvarnna waves again, cursing both droids in the Togruta tongue of colors, stripes, and purring words. "Is going to rig the soil, yes. They set trap? He, I even, set traps. Trrrrrapmasterrrrrr is I." A click of the tongue, "-- gonna rig grenades. TAKKAAAAA! Hit the music button! Play the uh, the uh...uhhhhh-"
"The Wook-Opera?"
From the ETA-shuttle, the Cruel-Neebray, comes the belting and roaring...of Wookiee.
Another vox'd grunt in acknowledgement to Hadrix on the topic of Later. His helmet looks down to the little BB unit. <"Guard the Woor'tra"> Rathe gets in return a rapid series of binary he can't even get his Dreadfinder to translate, but the raspberry sound at the end was fairly universal. He holds his left hand up palm out at the droid. <"Keep up."> Rathe grunts at the BB unit, then turns and launches up in the air after Hadrix. His flight path isn't as graceful, but it suffices. Poor Nimble is relegated to speeding along the terrain bleeping his indignation at being left behind. Hunting. Yes. Good word for what they had been doing. Rathe's grip tightens on the Vibrosword, his knuckles whitening under the armor. The War Medic is aching to kill... more than kill. But that would be a good start. In the meantime, they have a new mission. One he struggles to focus his rage-mind upon. Rescue. His eyes close for a moment. A females voice from memory. 'Calm'. There is a soft pained sound, and he whispers back inside the privacy of his helmet, untransmitted. "I can't."
<"Captain Trip, hold on. I am going to try to get us there as fast as possible."> Aubrei warns him but she can feel him settle in firmly upon her armor. She gathers her courage and launches herself out into the growing dark, her heart thundering in her chest and ears. Her breath loud inside the helmet as she clips one last thing to her belt. A small duraglass container with glowing fireflies inside of it.
She launches herself off a fallen tree but even the nightvision can not catch all the details and she slams into the next, foot twisting as she goes down but braces to try to make sure Trip is unhurt. She lets out a sound and starts to scramble back up to her feet and keep going, a dreaded sense of death following them makes her movements less than graceful.
For the others its become apparent that someone was here not long ago. The beacon is too new and unweathered to have been out long. The the undergrowth further in the jungle is moving and the sounds of trees creaking cause the others to realize that something very big is pushing them about as their canopies sway. Whatever was originally moving out in the dark is suddenly gone as something far larger is approaching the strange sounds and ships.
There is a sudden canine like whimper and whine before the thrashing of whatever it is around. The sounds quiet but before all settles into unknown a large furred corpse of a creature with large eyes likely made to see in the dark is thrown towards them and lands just shy of Hadrix as it lands. The body is torn apart and oozing its life essence out across the ground.
The desire to leap from the Mandalorian's shoulder and engage whatever lurk in their wake was a strong impulse, but fair Aubrei's fear was palpable; call it animal intuition. The Kushiban taps the knife .. SWORD against Aubrei's helmet. "Steady your heart and stop acting in fear and act like the scout you were raised to be, fair Aubrei. Are we pursued? Yes. Will we die? Likely. But if it is to pass, we die with dignity and spine intact. So stop running into sodding trees; OOF!" And off he goes, tumbling from Aubrei's back and into the unseen wilderness.
A moment later, the jungle fills with the determined scream of Captain Trip.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
What good could a Kushiban do to a Rancor? Not a damn bit. If any had the perception to see, he was on its foot stabbing and shanking with no visible effect.
SHANK SHANK SHANK
"WHHHY WILL YOU NOT DIE!?"
<<"Good to have you here, Al'verde. Rathe...">> Zelo stops, really not sure what to say. He holds a little tighter to the gun, a talisman against bad thoughts that he really doesn't have time for as he hears growls out in the darkness. Scanning for the creatures, eyes like black pools behind the reflective Mandalorian visor land on something that tries to overwhelm the bad thoughts... Burial mounds. Four burial mounds, all laid out side by side. Luckily (in a very, very loose usage of the word), Zelo Parrai's mind is intercepted on a trip into the more-bad places by the sound of trees creaking and crashing. Quickly scanning in that general direction, he spots the massive form. He looks down at his gun, looks up at the Rancor, raises it to his shoulder, then shakes his head. This needs a bigger distraction.
As he starts to look around for something, he sees a... Some kind of something fuzzy on the Rancor's ankle. Then the Nautolan spots an open piece of hull and uses it as an access hatch. Dropping into the ship, the pilot looks about quickly until he spots the electrical panel. Quickly pulling some wires and tying them together with the exposed fingerpad of his right index finger, he flips a few switches and tries to route all held power in the capacitors into one large burst of light. Only one switch to flick. <"You may want to close your eyes!"> He calls as loud as his vocoder allows as he flips the switch. All that happens is a large cloud of smoke and the ship losing what little power it still had.
Brother Bizz gasps as the jungle starts moving... and body parts start flying! "A rancor!" He fires an energized arrow at the rancor but misses, exploding a nearby tree with a BOOM. "Take cover!" He flees to the safety of the crashed beacon-ship, trading his bow for his walking stick, which is menacing in its own right. <"Nevermind...">
<"We're going to move faster. We're nearing hunting hours on this spore-ball."> already having to close one filter to dump it and then the other for the atmosphere of the world. Looking around again before he begins cycling through the frequency of the distress signal and the others 'adjacent' to it with a two channel margin,
<<"This is Hadrix Kora of Clan Kora. I am...">> trailing off as he starts to raise one arm and halting when the body slams down next to him. <<"Kriff...">> following the arch of the body back and igniting his jets again in attempt to get into the air. <<"Rathe get off the ground. NOW.">> opening fire with nine millimeter cartridges that are laughable against such a thick hide.
<<"Going to need to change methods...">> shaking hiss head as he slides the pistol into its holster while he lifts into the air again, attempting to keep out of reach of the monster as he goes for the personal cannon he has slung on his back.
"Y'grrittii, the beacon...do yo-"
The three stand watch on the ramp of the Cruel-Neebray. Well. The two. Hapvarnna is off inside of the shuttle, still cursing and howling out at both Most-Brass and Most-Gold. "GO DIG A HOLE!" Comes the shout, "Seventy-five degreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees! Pit, yes. No, yes. Bed. Make a bed! Big, big bed. Chaum!" The ZEDs look at one another, before the roaring and gunfire starts. The cycloptic eyes churn, and then burn red as voices in unison kick up: "RANCOR DETECTED. RANCOR DETECTED. RANCOR DET-"
Hapvarnna howls out in mock pain, but mostly exagerration. "Ayyyy! HE KNOWS! YES! GO. CHAUM!" Meanwhile, the bedeviled, rainbow-armored Togruta pulls out a box of grenades. Then another, and another, and finally -- two more. Popping the wiring harnesses out, biting through cords, twisting ties. It's the jankiest sight ever seen and any professional soldier would scream in horror.
Within minutes, they're outside, between trees and crashed ship, laying down the web of jankyness. Both Droids assisting the brightly colored Togruta to dig the hole, shift the dirt and, creating a 'firewall' -- before the Wookie-Opera shakes out over the ship's comms again, bathing the night in those sounds. Loud. LOUD.
As the radio crackles, Hapvarnna howls over the frequencies, "Ayyyy! Ay! Ay! Follow the music, yeah? Yeah. Brrrrring the Rok." Then he's back on the ground, braiding wires, working Jank Wizard magic until an old camera's capacitor is popped free, wired together. "Button, button, button..." Muttering mostly to himself.
There's a furry corpse flying through the air, this is not good. A jungle Rancor. Rathe steels himself to charge, trying to shake off the insistent suddenly angry and fearful voice in his minds replay 'Don't you DARE, Rathe!'. It gave him pause, and he closes his eyes and murmurs "I'm sorry" into the dark of his helmet. He shifts the sword in his hands, a two handed grip. Preparing to launch his rocketpack for the charge. Rathe hears the order from Hadrix, and his helmet shakes. His mind wars with the instinct to follow orders, and letting himself vent physically on that Rancor.
A second pause, as the visor electrobinocs kick in to pick up a Kushiban annoying the Rancor. It makes Rathe rethink his current life choices suddenly. The sword is slid home into the sheathe bolted to the outside of his left calf. He draws the E-11 Karys had gifted him, he pushes her memory down. Just enough to push beyond internal agony and focus on the rage and hatred for the galaxy. He ascends into the night with the jetpack, already picking his next shots once he is in better range and has a clearer view.
Aubrei keeps her pace, inspired by Trip upon her shoulder when she can begin to make out shpes. Nightvision helps but its the rancor that causes her to slow, a gasp leaving the helmet as Trip leaps forward. "CAPTAIN!" Worry sounds out in her words before the woman turns about, noting the thrusters of jetpacks as several take to the air and she hears the music then, her head turning. What in all the stars? Aubrei stands confused a moment when she hears the growl from behind her. The Rancor keeps the night living creature away from her in proximity and it forces her to quickly turn and head for the wreck of the ship.
<"HAIL!!! YOu answered my call! It is time to go!!! TRIP!"> She is calling to the black haired tiny creature who is trying to shank the rancor.
She shifts up and into the wreck of the ship when she sees the mandalorian messing with her rigged mess. <"What do you think you are doing?"> She rushes over towards him reaches out to grasp at him. <"We need to go.">
Outside the rancor lets out a frustrated roar. They have done him no harm but Trip is annoying as is the music. Its losing its focus as it swings around trying to pinpoint the much faster and much smaller creature that is as dark as the night.
"HAVE AT YOU, FOUL BEAST!" Screams Trip whilst stabbing at its ankle with his knife. He manages to do some measure of damage to the thing before leaping off the foot and placing the handle of his chosen weapon in his mouth, teeth clamped down, so he might run on all fours to get the rekk away from this pissed of MONSTER.
Aubrei is not long alone when the weeds of tall grass fuss about and the shorter 'Captain' emerges with red eyes and black fur, as black as the clothing he wears. "BIG BEASTY.. COMING THIS WAY. TIME TO GO.. TIME TO GO! FAIR AUBREI?!" Trip yells, rising up on hind legs once more and removing his knife to yell. A look back from whence he came has the Lagomorph's ears drooping back and laying down the length of his back with worry. This was not his best work. Black fur quickly changes to a fearful yellow and he searches for the fair Aubrei so he might return to his eyrie and find a way off this hellish place.
Zelo coughs out the electronics smoke, the only appreciable fallout of his attempt to rig up a ship-sized flash grenade. Still, all the noise is going on outside, and there's the fuzzy thing, and two of his own Clan out there. He coughs again as he makes his way to the hole in the hull, halway out when suddenly an unfamiliar figure is in front of him.
<'What do you think you are doing? We need to go.'>
This must be the owner of the beacon. He looks over the armor and then back to the Rancor. <"Hail. Cargo ramp's wide open on the Razorcrest over there. I'll cover while you get there. If you're comfortable with it, you can start up ignitions. Otherwise, the Woor'tra yonder is also one of ours. We'll get you out of here."> Zelo steps through the hull plating and raises the E-11, cradled a little in his arm before firing position. With a practiced ease and exhalation, he pulls the trigger once, giving the Rancor a very good reason to be perturbed. <"Might want to get moving, fast."> Zelo notes the fuzzy blur running up in their direction, familiar now that he's closer.
<"Trip? If you need a ride, ramp's open.">
Bizz is hiding beside the wrecked ship and sees a Kushiban and Aubrei fleeing, though the former is stab-stab-stabbing at a jungle rancor before he gets snatched away. "Run away!" The fat little Ugnaught hikes up his robe's hem and starts running toward his shuttle. He can't just fly away like these Mangolorians, so Bizz is hoofing it.
Rifle out, adjusting settings and engaging the overpressure chambers, Hadrix keeps himself airborne, surveying the area, <<"Following your signal, I will be at your position.">> barely managing to make his way through the giant fungal growths en route to Aubrei's comms.
<<"Rathe, what do you see? Can you get eyes on any of them?">> approaching the blonde woman's position on wings of fire, scorching fungus in the wake of his passage. <<"We need to get back for the real job.">>
The Cruel-Neebray's lights have never turned off, they flood the field with landing lights, and the comms blast Wook-Opera across the grasses, and through the trees at the highest volume the ETA-shuttle can muster. The Hapvarnna is from Shili. Giant man-eating monsters? It's like being HOME.
Which is why he's spitting and sputtering and screaming the entire time he works his Jank Wizard magic, tears apart that camera and rigs a capacitor up to -- a signal-receiver. CLICK. Rakka and Takka watch the forest and fleeing bodies, "Sir, We must perform these rescue operations now if We are to justify Our exi-" Hapvarnna howls, "Ayyyyy! Ay! He heeearrrrrs you two spirrrritssss, yes, yes. He HEARS you. So loud." The waves of the music scatter across the land, and they thump-and-drive the Togrutan's brain to a higher, synethesic high. Togrulocation. He sits on the ramp of the Cruel-Neebray, using Umak's glitter-tape to finish the strapping of the copper wire to the capacitor to the detonator to the -- click, click. "Sir, how sure are you this will work?"
Wherein Hapvarnna gives a shrug, "Like, uh, ninety-two." "And how sure are you it will not also destroy us?" "Uhhh..." Wherein a screwdriver goes into his mouth and there's gargled noises.
If he was honest with himself. Rathe isn't exactly sure what the hell he is witnessing, but his blood is up. The Kushiban lands some hits on the Rancor after all, Rathe can see this much. If the tiny hopping creature can do such... Noone will ever know what it took for Rathe to keep the E-11 in his hands and not drop like a rock with a Vibrosword in them instead. He will never speak of it to anyone, he could do without the inevitable lectures and questioning of his sanity. He cannot hear the others so much at the moment. There is a blink behind the visor, Rathe swears he saw an armored and robed Ugnaught.
Maybe he is going crazier?
Rathe weaves his way closer to the walking nightmare, he could care less about rules of engagement right now. Hadrix's voice bounces about his helmet, almost in one ear and out the other. 'Real job'? Rathe growls to himself before speaking up to comment dryly. <<"Unless you brought an armed Kushiban I don't know about... I'm about to engage in the real job.">> If he can get the damned thing to focus on him after all. <"HEY! YOU! UGLY!"> Rathe's E-11 speaks firmly in his favorite language. War. <<"Someone snag the tiny one, I have enough on my plate at the moment!">> Rathe isn't about to broadcast his usual rocketeering struggles... it's not his fault really. This place is a living maze of sorts on high as much as on the ground.
<"There are many ships"> Aubrei says to Zelo when he offers to cover her. She steps off the wreck and nods, giving a quick and furitive glance towards the graves. No time now. She sees Trip the moment he calls for her and is starting his way when a large figure lands beside her. Hadrix is given a look from behind that visor, an old visor. The armor is different than his own but no less mandalorian.
<"I understand. Time to move...best not to stay. There are nightstalkers out there as well so watch yourselves."> But she is moving, heading for Trip despite the pounding of her heart to get him lofted up and onto her back. <"Here Captain!"> Comes the call as she lowers, readying to lifting him before beginning to rush towards a ship, glancing towards the one with a strangely colored mandalorian and his compatriot droids.
Thanks will come later.
The rancor finds soon that the annoyances become real trouble and Trip is luckily far enough away when it rounds about and looks for a target. The ship with its music is the largest one and it begins to tear off towards it, roaring as a tree is slammed to the side and towards Rathe. Bizz will find the ground shaking beneath his feet.
As the rancor gets close enough the concerted effort of the Firebug that is Hapvarnna is going to pay off and likely cause some collateral damage. Aubrei passes the location, throwing herself forward towards one of the opens ships - not caring which and does ultimately pass Hapvarnna's line of explosives. The Rancor's steps cause the ground to shudder but when that explosionssuddenly goes off beneath it, it rears back, thrown the way it had come and slightly angled as flames lick up its tough outter skin. The cry it lets out draws other sounds from the jungle as predators move in, ready to take adventage of the situation.
Nightsalkers as Aubrei called them suddenly leaps out and onto the prone figure.
When the fair Aubrei came for Trip, he ran to her after stowing his weapon, moving on all fours and mounting her back once more. His paws found purchase upon the plating of her armor again and he latched tight, slapping her shoulder with his paw to indicate he was good. "Now is the time for fear, I think. Run, warrior. I have done what can be done--" The explosion was massive, and it made the Kushiban flinch at hearing it. With ears ringing, the creature cringes and just hangs on, leaving the more complicated giant things to Aubrei and her herd.
Zelo nods. <"Fair. Mine's the cool one right there. Woor'tra's the big one next to it. Fair assessment, Al'verde?"> Keep it light. Especially in a jungle full of things that want to eat other things, and you may be on the menu. But there's really not time for banter. Zelo switches on internal comms as he starts making for the Lonesome, taking only one shot as he largely focuses on getting to the ship and off in one piece. As he side-runs, lining up a shot, the mother of a mother of explosions goes off, flinging the distracted Rancor back and almost sending him to the ground. Quick reflexes and a little bit of luck keep the Nautolan on his feet and he drives armored boots into the ground, kicking up damp dirt and vegetation as he sprints for the open ramp of the small freighter.
<<"Rathe, we've got two for evac. Making for the ships. This is only getting hairier, personally advising you do the same.">> This last on the Clan comms as Zelo sprints through the cargo bay full of corn and reaching the cockpit, miraculously in one piece.
Bizz is thrown to the ground by the ear-shattering BOOM like a Lethal Weapon movie. "Poodu, what in the FORCE was that?!" The monk rolls on the ground and quicky gets back to his feet, running with his robe hem flapping as he goes to his ugly shuttle.
One arm up before his visor as he turns and drops to one knee to brace when the explosion comes, Hadrix growls and hunkers while debris falls all around and the audio dampeners in his helmet make him momentarily deaf to anything outside for several moments, <"That's going to bring everything and it's hungry rekking cousins...">
When his system lets him hear again he is standing and motioning for Aubrei to hook on and the little furry knife-fighter next to her, <<"Mine is the big block with engines strapped to it...">> answering as he sends a signal to the Ithorian in beskar within the Woor'tra, the blockade runner lifting up into the air with bomb bay loading doors sweeping open,
<"Kushiban. Keep hold">
whumWhumWHumWHUmWHUM
Jetpack thrusters beginning to whine for the additional weight before the bronzium battle-cannon held by Hadrix belches green fire that snaps through fungal stalks well shy of the target - but also being used to throw him and those with into the air with the force of the kick right before a second green comet is birthed and explodes against the rancor, leaving a crater in thick hide and heavy flesh.
<"I hate this kriffing planet."> jets engaging and carrying them skyward for the Mando's craft. <"Rathe, quit playing around and exfil. And don't forget Nimble."> voice a little softer at the last.
There's so much going on. SO MUCH. Every blast of the speakers, paints the night-time world in a wave of light that the Togruta can, in a way, see. Because Togrutolocation. Every stomp of the Rancor? It highlights the backdrop of the world. Every blast. Every scream. Shout. Roar.
Hapvarnna stands on the ramp to his ship, one hand held up as a beautiful bounty of gleaming wires and sparkling lights. The comms, the radio-chatter, the real-time audio. Hapvarnna, lost in the fit of his senses begins to HOWL! "Arrrrooooooo! Ayyyyyy! Ay! Spiiiiiirrrrriits hearrrr Him when He says -" The Togruta dressed in gleaming rainbow-colored armor fingerguns at the giant, "LET THERRRRE BEEEEE LIIIIGH-" The button clicks. He pauses.
Takka and Rakka's cycloptic eyes turn to the Togruta, "Sir?" "You may want to hurry."
A gloved hand waves dismissively at them, hissing, "Tssssk! Did he wire it wrong? No, no. No I did not. Wire it wrong, pfft. Wha...oh. Ha." *Click* The striped face peeks up sheepishly at both giant droids, "Safety was on."
To which, even amidst all the danger, they respond: "Yes, well. Safety fir--" The explosion rocks the Cruel-Neebray, and the whistling of shrapnel is a terrifying symphony that ends Wook-Opera. Glowing stars fly upwards and outwards, as the fragmentation grenades all go off and, at such an angle, as to mince the Rancor. It's such to bring Hapvarnna to his knees, near-sick with a dizzy euphoria as the Togrulocation overstimulates and he can, momentarily, taste the rainbow of explosive flavor.
Oh. That mission. Rathe's brains suddenly kicks in. Slaughtering pirates. Because they can. Because they need to. Rathe has several problems at once. First. There's a Fungi-Tree coming for his face. He's able to just slip out of the way of that damned thing, when suddenly his visor completely polarizes. Rathe doesn't have time to blink wondering why, when the helmet automatically kills his audio pickups. With the way he's buffeted about blindly, he belatedly realizes there was a very large kaboom.
Zelo's voice in his head as the comms pick back up. Rathe has time to rage against the fact the Rancor has been effectively taken down without him. "I don't care." It is a reflex snap, but untransmitted intentionally. It's unfair towards Zelo, and he hears a tsk in the back of his mind. He's reminded of a personal promise and sighs. Nightstalkers are not exactly seen, just noticed, and Rathe wants to turn his rage upon them instead. He turns to head down readying the E-11 once more. <<"I am deadly serious!">> This is Rathe's protest towards Hadrix, part snarl, part insane laugh. he spares a thought for Nimble, but he loses his focus. He craves to kill, and not stop. Rathe taps the controls for the rocketpack.
Well, Rathe THOUGHT it was a tap. In his anger he had stabbed the control and suddenly finds himself a Dreadfinder encased human pinball. He slams backwards away from the fight and bounces along several fungi, large and small, and the ground for a moment before the Gravbelt kicks in and momentum carries him to the Woor'tra, or rather the ground in front of the ramp.
FWUMP! Rathe has touched down, and in a concussion-induced shade of his former self, raises a gauntleted hand like a claw upwards. Fingers shift so he is just holding up his index finger. <"OW!">
As to Nimble? Nimble was the smartest of them all. At the first Rancor bellow he'd turned tail and rolled his shiny black butt back up the ramp of the Woor'tra there to be found by Hadrix and guests sitting there. His tiny head bobbling about in an obvious shiver of terror.
The conversations on comms is like hearing old friends and Aubrei hugs tightly to Hadrix as they clear the distance towards the waiting ship. Watching as the rancor burns now and the nightsalkers are moving in, her adrenaline begins to rush through her. <"Captain Trip...we are saved."> Its says with hope in her voice as they land and she turns for seconds later Rathe lands and she reaches out. Her hand steadies the medic and then she is leaning into his side. <"Got you. Our thanks."> The first thanks she can give as she glances back out over her shoulder as she helps the unknown fellow mandalorian onto the ship.
<"Everyone is out right">
The wild of Felucia is on fire the air filled with roars and growls as the nightstalkers begin pulling apart the rancor that has been wounded to the point it can not fight back adequately. The beacon has been answered and thankfully the explosion had thrown the beacon off its place atop the wreck and shorted it upon impact with the ground. No one else shall be trapped here.
"So it seems," Replies Trip, who then intones, "AND YOU HAVE BEEN RETURNED TO YOUR HERD!" He yells this as the rocketpack has activated and the rush of wind peels his ears back. Trip thinks it difficult to hear, so that must mean he should yell!
<<"Everyone loaded?">> Zelo waits for some confirmation on the internal comms before he takes the repulsors up a notch and lifts the ship up. Raising the cargo ramp, the Razorcrest ship known as Lonesome feels aptly named as the engines propel it to space. He broadcasts wide to the nearby space, hoping to catch the two unidentified ships as he plots his course in the computer for Y'toub, where he still needs to deliver seventy tons of corn.
<<"Unidentified ships, this is the RZC Lonesome. Know that your good deeds are appreciated.">> With that, he trips a switch, heading back to Nar Shaddaa. There isn't a rush, but... There isn't a reason to take his time either. Something tells him this is the new normal. He sighs as the ship makes the jump to hyper. "I'm going to need to read up on electronics. That could have been cool."
Senses ringing. Cruel-Neebray alive, intact, and speckled where the paint has been scuffed by hot shrapnel; the radio-chatter is returned as the tri-winged shuttle lifts off -- hovering above the devastation of the dying Rancor and cruel Nightstalkers. FLASHFLASHFLASH. Someone taking photos, selfies even, from the cockpit. "Thhhhhiiiiiiiiisssssssssss is He, He-Who-Saves, We, even. Prrrrraise Suuuun. Next time We will get some Hunterrrr Rrrrancorrrr shell, yeah? Claws maybe? Yes." Dials are turned, and the ships wings unfold, the lights begin to blink, "Heeeee will see you all, yes, over the rrrrrainbow." FWOOSH.
<<"I think so.">> Hadrix's voice comes back after Zelo comms, standing in the docking bay of the Woor'tra, staring at a dark point. <<"Yes... Rathe?">> he's headed for the cockpit, hunched, head down and shoulders bunched up as he ducks through the corridors of the craft that look as if a wild animal had been rampaging through them of late. Headed for the bridge before his voice starts over the ship PA.
<<"We'll bring you both to safe harbor. Trip... Miss.">> only one of them he recalls hearing a name for - so he makes do with what he can. <<"Either patch in on intercomms... or come up to the bridge.">> Pheergus having already vacated too get out of the Massive Mandalorian's way.
<<"Kushiban - we have accomodations for your size.">> even if it had been so long since he last saw Jiji.
A groan, and the world is a little spinny, and his hearing is a bit off and tinny. He blinks to clear his vision, shakes his head a little to clear his inner ear. There is a groan at that sudden movement. He is unsteady trying to rise, and suddenly finds assistance at his side helping him up the ramp.
The Dreadfinder helmet, the one with bloody handprints on either side of it turns it's visor upon Aubrei.
<"Who the hell are you? Where the hell did you come from?"> A beat. <"Thanks."> The acceptance of help doesn't sound completely natural, as if the voice would have preferred to have been left down and behind. It is his only protest. He hears Zelo ask for confirmation. Rathe hesitates. <<"Zelo. Confirmed.">> He confirms for both Zelo and Hadrix. But there had been another brief pause from his abused voice. <<"Good Job, Zelo.">>
He helps lead Aubrei and the Kushiban to the bridge, it is just simpler. He asks Hadrix while trying not to sound dissapointed. <"Detour?">
