Log:Freetown: Taking out the Trash

A posse arrives to clear out freetown.

OOC Date: May 26, 2022
Location: Freetown, Tatooine
Participants: Amal Jha, Kohnner, Migs Mayfeld, Kalys Remshi, Uutkit, Caius Sentari, Hadrix Kora, Hahtavi Kora, Risslan, Dailo Fett, Zuckuss NPC

Free Town is a thumb print in the desert, a place where mirages and heat waves meat in an odd marriage and arrange in a back-water (without the presence of water) place. The local populace has been known to open trade with the ancient tribes of sandpeople, and they're open to strangers, for the most part, so long as you didn't stir up trouble. At least, that's how it was when Marshal Vanth maintained the place.

Now, in the absence of the drek-kicking Marshal, a swoop gang has taken up occupancy and imposed upon the good citizens of Freetown. Women and children are ushered about like cattle, ready to ship out as slaves, stores of water have been taken over and rationed only to the members of the gang, and the men of the town are made to parade about until executed, or left in make-shift stockades and used as target practice until someone gets lucky.

Lady Dailo Fett, Commander of Clan Fett and a close ally to Marshal Vanth leads the advanced party of the Marshal's posse, intent to bring some frontier justice and make an example of the criminals who paraded onto the world in the absence of its Marshal and ruling party.

Slave V sets course for landing, the Firespray vessel a slimmer shadow of the notorious bounty hunter and former Lord of Tatooine Boba Fett's, begins to rotate, bringing its stern about to settle onto the sands along the outskirts of Freetown. Dailo Fett is Mandalorian, her armor is indicative of that fact, and any who sought proof should look no further than Jaster Mereel's sigil on her chest. The Slavic accented female steps down from the control cabin after the vessel has settled, and adjusts her poncho to show off the twin Westar-34 pistols once carried by her grandfather, Jango. <"We have arrived. It appears that this gang has lost all sense of decency. A sandcrawler nearby is being attacked, there are slave pins holding innocent civilians, and the bulk of the gang occupies the town center. -- Deadly force is authorized. If you wish to bring them in alive to answer for crime, be my guest. Should you kill them where they stand? Also acceptable. Our goal is to liberate Freetown. No criminal leaves here alive. Prepare yourselves for combat, and follow me in.">

The sharp intake of air regulated by a breathing apparatus heralds the arrival of the fat Gand companion of Dailo Fett, the legendary Findsman Zuckuss. "We have found our quarry waiting.." He says, releasing the heavy breath he just took, ammonia cycling as he brought out his rifle. "..let them know justice when it splits their head.." Another sharp intake of air, then slow release as he works the bolt of his weapon, chambering a round. "..in two.."

Dailo waits by the ramp for everyone to give the okay.

The Slave V was not a large ship, as these things were counted, but made smaller by the sheer number of people who had been recruited to assist in the liberation of Freetown. Amongst them, was the white on white Echani, standing not far from the exit ramp, a thin rapier weapon touching tip t the deck plaing as she waited to hear the orders, and to be given the okay to disembark. Though Amal had been at Mos Espa only the day before, she looked rested and ready, "Yes, Commander." Amal was neither a mandalorian, nor an ally of Clan Fett, the sheer lack of armor made that plain enough, but there was work to be done, and the swordswoman was here to see it done. And to pay Dallo the respect she was due.

It's not his kind of scene. At least not without some kind of payout at the end. But the swoop gangs tearing across Tatooine have made themselves a pain in Migs' posterior, so now it was time to return the favour. Or at least unleash some frustrations of which Mayfeld has in abundance.

And while he'd never admit it out loud, seeing those just trying to live their lives getting enslaved and massacred for the benefit of those with bigger boots really sticks in his craw.

The bald man has just finished checking over the EZ-Snap rifle he borrowed from the walking arsenal of a Mandalorian near him; nodding idly to the younger Fett's words and doing his damnest /not/ to ask how the elder Fett is doing. Because he doesn't want to know.

Instead, he points to a flame sticker on the butt of the gun and raises a brow towards the large Kora. "The hell is this. Makes the bolts go fastah?" Oh, wait. Someone said somethin'. "Yeah, ready. Let's get this show goin'."

Yet another day spent on Tatooine cleaning up the criminals. It was good pay, and good experience for young Klatooinian known by some as Kohnner. Other places he might be known as Comrade Dogface but that's a story for another time...

Currently, the Ronin stood by the ramp, leading some space for others, waiting for the ship to land and let them off. He didn't speak much, expression hidden behind the helmet of his Void armor. He wears a hooded cloak over that armor, white much like the color the Echani across from him seemed to enjoy, though it's gotten a bit beat up since the other day. The Canine looks towards Amal and gives a nod before nodding to Dailo herself, <<"Understood...">> His voice a low rumbling growl.

Kalys is perhaps out of her league when it comes to the hardened mercs and soldiers that she has arrived with, but damnit, she's a moisture farmer and her farm and the farms of a good many friends and acquaintances have been hit. She's even disposed of three bodies and counting so far, easy body disposal is certainly one of the perks of living in a desert. Enough is enough though, and sure it's good that such skilled folk are willing to put their lives on the line, but a Tatween native needs to be there too in her mind. Stand up for what's right!

The flame-haired moisture farmer stands ready, one hand reaching down to unholster the blaster pistol nestled at her hip, while her armour is simple enough, light enough too for her frame. Said armour shrouded with a Krayt blood-red poncho, the desert camo armour has probably seen better days. Nodding to Dailo, and taking a deep breath as her dour expression settled a few grooves into her brow, the Tatooine native agreed with a curt. "Absolutely. These gangs have plagued us long enough." Deputised? Posse'ed up? Kalys eyed the exit, ready to move, and keep out the way of more experienced sorts. As best she can at least.

Batten down the hatches! Secure for attack! Woop Woop Woop! Uutkit is on the bridge of the Sandcrawler, having just come under siege from some ne'er do-welling swoopers! Barking into his little voice-tube, Uutkit summons all hands to battle stations! The Jawas scurry and scamper about, picking up anything that they can use! The more skilled and veteran of the Jawas pick up their Ion blasters and stun pikes.. whilst the junior members pick up whatever bits of salvage they can muster and head for the exterior hatches... or the roof. Having sealed all the entrances to prevent easy-access, Uutkit shuffles his way towards the roof, wheezing as he navigates the tiny corridors and ladders that will eventually lead him to the roof of his Sandcrawler.

<"My kind of justice.">, Caius voxes agreeably as he steps off the ship after Zuckuss. There's no doubt the cop would rather see things done as dirty as possible. Quicker that way, y'know? With his already snapped-out rifle hitched on his shoulder, he gives the panorama of the town the once-over. <"...right, I'll be on top of that building. Overwatch.">, he voxes to Dailo as he points over to Vanth's residence, helmet swivelling over for her affirmation.

Eclectically armed as usual, weapons strapped to him from the massive wookiee cannon he wields with a matching Ryyk blade to pistols and to the curious short baton in one fist, like it was meant to have a whip or even a short blade extending.

<"Copy. No quarter acknowledged."> Hadrix growls and steps up towards the hatch, helmet on and the balor glow shining just behind it. A flick of his shoulder throwing the krayt scales of his cape clear of his arms and a hip mounted... quiver? is revealed there. Besides his left shoulder floats Gripper, the small ID10 unit's limbs hanging down and optic glowing in the dim, already prepping for scanner sweeps.

The Massive Mandalorian is shaking, visibly, like a Boar-Wolf straining at the chain, and if close enough there is a muffled sound of speech coming from within the sealed helmet, externals apparently turned off for the moment. Mig's comment does receive a slow turn of his head though, the red pin light momentarily flaring before his thumb brushes a toggle and limbs extend, a metallic string stretching between them as the recurve shape forms and locks in place.

Hahavti also has come along and like Amal, he was out this way dealing with Swoop gangers just yesterday as well. Thie Mandalorian has come in his usual kit and already has his rifle of choice pulled from his back and secured to his tactical rig in front. Helmet on, he stands quietly listening to Dailo's and Zuckuss's briefing, waiting for their cue to debark.

There are a number of familiar faces in this gathering. This Kora studies each of them briefly then gives Dailo a nod, <"Understood and ready."> No more slurred speech for him.

Risslan checks the charge on his N'gant-Zarvel carbine, red eyes turning from blaster to Fett as the situation waiting them is described. A slow nod of comprehension and a rasping, "stamb byirlstropza od sund *wryi*," are his answers as the young warrior waits his turn to disembark upon arrival. [Language: Dosh]

Dailo gives a final nod and turns her head to look at the ramp release. One clipped jerking motion and the lever comes down, triggering the release of the ramp. Dailo kicked the manual override, her grunt conveyed over the hot-mic of her helmet, and the hatch opened more quickly, denying their enemies the chance to mentally prepare for what was about to pour from the ship.

Once down the ramp, the group was faced with a pretty open setting. Freetown is literally a thumbprint in the desert with buildings that form a single street between them. There is nothing beyond that but desert, and there is nothing behind them but desert. In fact, desert everywhere! Their enemy, clearly marked gang members of the Swoop gang wear kuttes with distinctive logos on them that mark them for the same 'tribe' or club. They're armed with blasters, and immediately begin to open fire on those descending the ramp. Dailo had left the repulsors going to stir up dust and mask their disembark with a bit of dirty concealment, so blaster bolts rain in without any indication of accuracy.

The Sand Crawler is locked up, and the gang attacking it has abandoned it for new quarry. Leaving the crew disembarking Slave V to contend with some fifteen Gang members out in the open and immediate area. For those seeking height advantage by being atop a building, the nearest one is over 75 yards away.

Zuckuss waddles down the ramp and points, sucking in a sharp breath. "I HAVE FOUND OUR ENEMY! BRING.." Release of breath, and another sharp one is taken; sweet, sweet ammonia! "..JUSTICE!"

Commander Fett's voice cuts over that as she takes to the air above. <"ENGAGE! CLEAR THE STREETS!">

Amal, having given her consent to follow the orders of the Fett Commander, did not waste time in sizing up the competition, looking for the strongest (or weakest target), or anything but moving herself into position. She stepped down from the ramp and charged, immediately into the fray, the crimson plasma of her blade paled to an almost delicate pink in the brightness of the twin suns as she engaged with the first two she reached. She showed no desire to toy with her pray, only to do the work that was needed, as she cut through one, kicking the body away and into his fellow, using the stumbling block to take the second.

It's been a long, long time since Migs answered to commands being shouted at him through an earpierce or -- more accurately -- the communication system inside a helmet. Yet he instinctively responds; posture tightening and eyes focusing. And he hates, hates, hates how it is all operating on automatic.

Clenching his jaw, he jumps out of the hovering craft into a cloud of sand and the rain of indirect blaster fire. <"Keep 'em pinned!"> He yells through the comm piece he has wired into one ear and the mic attached to it. Kicking up sand and staying low, he makes a break for the line of adobe houses. All but diving into cover with a roll over his shoulder and quickly, expertly, setting up his ground-level sniper's nest.

A jerk of his hands, a click of the biped stand and he has the barrel resting atop a railing; blue, creased eye already peering down the scope.

Uutkit emerges onto the top of the Sandcrawler, peering about. His fellows are already manning the rails, as it were, hurling bits of debris down at the Swoop gang that dart about beneath. "aafiehafas hoofooph ghevaethie py poogiewod ghevaethie raekaa.." he mutters to himself, wandering over to the edge. Taking careful hold, he peers out over the edge, looking like a little hooded version of Kilroy, with glowing eyes as he peers down carefully. "ghevaethie saerigiwie oowetus sigh ej.." he points at the Slave V and the menagerie of mercenaries that spill out. [Language: Jawa]

Kalys gives a nod towards Zuckuss. "Thank you for this." And then the flame-haired moisture farmer is off. Boot-shod feet hitting the sand and pounding that very sand as she moves towards cover. She's only ever really fired that weapon while standing still, even hit someone once in the leg. She wasn't aiming for the leg admittedly. But now, weapon bouncing in her grasp as she high-tails it towards the nearest building, Kalys' Krayt blood coloured poncho and hood wavering in her wake. Determined to make it, and make it she does as she flings herself into cover, slamming against the side of the building, weapon clutched with both hands.

When light hit Kohnner's visor it took only a moment for him to dash forth. No matter the blaster fire. A quick glance while moving gave a view of a settlement with little to no cover. Nothing but dunes. Alas, a battlefield suited for someone like the traveling swordsmen he was. He hones in on one target, barreling towards a swoop that's rocketing towards him, kicking up dusts as it moves. Kohnner's cloak flows as he picks up pace, drawing his sharp blade and stepping to the side.

The sun glints off the well sharpened metal before it slides through the Swoop rider. Now his sword might not be as powerful as Amal's electro-whip... but it did the job. As the Swoop came back around, Kohnner stepped to the side and impaled the blade through their chest, sending them to the ground and the speeder on ahead without its rider. Without much ceremony, he removes the blade with a rather unpleasant sucking sound from his enemy. He flicks blood from the blade and continues on, growling lowly as he holds the blade out in low guard.

Caius gets a nod, and he upnods back - at a non-existent Dailo who had already jetted off to open with an alpha strike. He sighs at that, and again when he's swivelled about and spotted Migs taking his spot on the roof.

<"Ah, fark it.">, he says before hoofing it to the nearest building to take cover behind and diving into a prone position, taking a breath, and firing.

PHOOM! He hits a bad guy square in the chest, taking him out of the fight.

Striding down the ramp with arrows being drawn from his quiver, the midnight purple plates are suddenly alight with the shimmer one might see in an insect wing when the heat and light of the twin suns strike it, cascading from one shoulder to the other and then becoming a flicker of incandescence that ripples with his movements or when shadows momentarily obscure.

Quivering the extras in his palm, Hadrix nocks his first and raises the bow to sight, right leg forward and the arrow drawn back to his cheek guard, studying movements. Watching while the others engage and being decidedly choosey for his moment. Not that the action doesn't result in a furthered tremble - leashing himself as it were.

<<"Marking target...">> a jolt of blue rushes up the shaft of the arrow at the furthest end of the draw and when released the missiles speed is enhanced by the sudden rotation of the fletching - streaking between Mandalorian and target to slam into shoulder armor, detonating in a shower of sparks and the big man is striding forward again, nocking another arrow.

One of the other Mandalorians attempts to take to the air in Dailo's wake but instead, Hahtavi's jetpack thinks it's Sumi's jetpack. The blasted thing only makes strange farty noises and misfires, aimed to piss off the wearer. It succeeds in doing just that! With a snarl, Hahtavi leaps out of the ship instead, boots to hit the ground. There's plenty of dust.

He runs a few steps out into the fray and pulls a grenade instead of using his rifle right off, <<"Frag out!">> Armed, the frag grenade is thrown - and it sails beautifully but hits a speeder and bounces /entirely/ the wrong direction, detonating in the sand between buildings. Thankfully not taking out townsfolk in the process.

One can almost hear the bounty hunter cussing in Mando'a even if he's not expressing it through his vocoder nor over coms. It is going to be one of /those/ days.

Maybe grenades are not such a good idea.

Risslan seeks the height advantage of BEING TALLER as the young Trandoshan charges directly down the ramp with the reckless abandon of a species that would have died off long ago if not for their innate regeneration. The dust kicked up by repulsors cloaks their landing but so too does it obscure Risslan's narrowed red eyes, and his own shots are more enthusiastic than accurate. "The Goddess loves sund yimaeism!" he screeches, blithely secure in the knowledge that none can understand him. [Language: Dosh]

Dailo Fett is high above the landing zone, swirling dust, and general fire fight. Committing both hands to holding pistols, she rains down a series of blasts from above, showing mediocre accuracy at best but managing to snag one healthy target, and another limping. She's unable to tell if they died from the trauma, but they don't look to be rising back up.

Zuckuss waddles quickly after sharing a moment with Kalys, nodding enthusiastically, to escape the blinding presence of swirling dust. He spots a sniper from atop a building and sights them in, screaming, "HA! FOUND YOU!" Then wheezes in a fresh huff of A before firing a slug shot. The contrail of the blast breaks supersonic speed, whip-CRACKING by those on the ground and removing the leg of the man Zuckuss found. The fat Gand wheezes laughter as they cycle the bolt on their rifle. For a moment, the old Hunter spots the tall Trandoshan youth and mistakes them for Bossk, even calling out, "WHAT?! No, gas.." He takes in a sharp huff and releases, "...grenades?!"

The Bad Guys have been reduced in number greatly; what was fifteen (15) is now nine (9), and they open fire despite suffering the effects of dust, and in some cases, cover.

Being a melee combatant in the midst of blaster fire was not an ideal situation. But then, the galaxy was not built on ideals. Amal had come to accept that, in the decades since she had grown old enough to be afforded the honour of combat, rather than training. And so, she fought, doing what she could to evade the blaster fire, when she could see it, whip casting it's light on the face of one of the swoop gangers as he zoomed in, trying to knock her flat, and got a sword to the face for his troubles. But no one was perfect, and she stumbled forward, as one of the blaster bolts made its mark, bringing a hiss of pain from the Echani's lips. But she did not stumble for long, using the forward momentum to allow her to swing around and stab at one of the gangers who had come in, thinking he could finish her off. Were there others fighting on the field? Of course there were, but Amal could not focus on them right now.

Uutkit is treated to a frontrow seat! Jetpacking Mando's and blaster bolts flying everywhere! And even a few grenades! Uutkit beckons some of his scavengers over, the group beginning to scope out the battlefield below... making note of fallen swoop riders and bits of destroyed equipment. Anything that could be salvaged later is annotated. "etaetutov vaen.. dah sigh eapeadaefa duphi iekosafy.. fethijad kelaelasoo thaa, maz oodimoo atyfoo kosa ivu etaetutov.. if iekoove rhaefer searoothag ithaakivagh rephiku." [Language: Jawa_Trade]

FFFFFFWWWWP!

White-hot pain rips into Mayfeld's leg, immediately drawing a string of curses and his ire. The barrel shifts just slightly to the left and screams angrily in a bright red streak of burning partical beam. The Bad Guy takes the hit like a champ; spinning on his axis but not dying as would be polite.

Still seeing red himself, Migs shifts; pinching the side of his elbow into his ribcage and from his back pops up a mechanised droid arm wielding a menacing pistol. It immediately locks in on the target he had just fired at, and though it missed the shot it remains out and ready to fire again.

A breath is taken, this is intense! Kalys grins somewhat lopsidedly as she exhales and pivots from cover for a moment, firing off a shot that goes wild, a red streak searing across the street. The second shot however finds its mark, with the fiery round slamming into an already injured gang-member and sending him tumbling to the ground, unmoving. Grinning, the moisture farmer feels a certain excitement pounding in her chest as she leans back into cover, readying as the hail of blaster fire and the whirl of blades in the midst of the enemy mows down the gang that has terrorised this town. "For Freetown! Know that a Remshi put you down! A farking moisture farmer at that! Fark every last one of you! Get rekt!" The words snarled across the dusty street.

Thanks to the onboard filtering of the Void armor's helmet the dust wasn't such a problem for Kohnner as it might have been for the swoop gang. However, the explosions nearby did add a bit of dramatic flapping to that white cloak of his adding more dust to the fabric. He was going to have to go to the cleaners after this.

A stray blot zipped past him and out of the dust came a swoop heading right for him. He attempted a swing but they were too fast and dodged out of the way. Coming about they tried to run the Klatooinian down again, yet he stepped out of the way and attempted a back swing which only sparked the swoop.

Third time is the charm though. As they come back around, Kohner resets his stand and then lands a very well placed hit in the gut of the rider. It's a very deep cut given the amount of speed added to his own pressure as he swung. It sent the rider to the ground. Not dead, but not at all happy about their situation either. Kohnner let out a low growl again.

<"FARKIN'- SCUM-">, Caius voxes out in annoyance as two bolts enter his space in quick succession. An easy enough side-roll helps him avoid the first, terribly-places shot and it harmlessly hits the dust beyond him, but the action led him to stray directly into the second. And it hits his leg.

<"!@&?!@">, the violent garble goes, Caius' helmet conveniently scrambling the likely string of profanities that came out of it. Still, he rolls right back and settles, tensing with a sharp breath as he whinnies up his targeting comp and takes his second shot.

PHOOM! Another one down, blowing their leg clean off.

<"Trandoshan. Follow my targets for your Scorekeeper or whatever it is part of whatever cockamamie spirituality plagues your homeworld."> Hadrix barking out, distortion in his helmet speakers a mixture of his own broken ice rasp and the systems trying to keep up with the volume he's able to produce.

Taking aim still and moving with steady purpose up until PWANG!

Head rocked back, the second shot ricocheting off his left rerebrace not noticed nor felt. Stumbling back several steps to maintain his balance before his T-visor comes back down again, focused on the sith-spit sucking swooper who had the temerity to shoot him in his kriffing face. Saved by the Mandalorian Iron that the Alor Ordo had crafted it from to 'keep him pretty just a little while longer'.

He starts to run, energy bow collapsing into itself and the distance between Hadrix and one very good shot narrows significantly. Those he passes gifted with the doppler sound of something inhuman roaring beneath the helmet, externals having cut out entirely from it. Leaping into the air and sailing past, missing his kick but pirouetting into a backfist aimed for their gob and knocking out teeth before blood is spit into his t-visor, knocking his aim askew and putting an instinctive knee rocket into the dirt.

The dust swirls and makes slightly harder targets of them as both sides exchange rapid fire. Hahtavi doesn't bother to seek cover as yet. With his helmet's augmentation he can pick out his targets despite the dust. All of his various teammates on this venture are also marked by their locations so he is in no way tempted to put friendly fire upon them by accident.

The Galaar fires two red bolts in rapid succession, nailing a Swoop ganger with the first shot but not quite taking him down hard. Haht follows it up with an even better placed second shot to be /sure/ of his kill. Don't want that one getting back up.

Hadrix causes Hahtavi to bark back a laugh.

Risslan roars with enthusiasm as he blasts away at the rapidly diminishing gang of swoop riders. Of course, the young warrior had yet to actually *hit* anyone, but it was not for lack of reckless effort. He mutters in a long hiss, "No gryopscroghta on zyilkya dumb planet shyo standing akru.. it's WEIRD." One of his shots at last finds it's mark, the carbine thudding with discharged energy. [Language: Dosh]

Dailo Fett comes in for a landing, both pistols spitting fire. The target she pounces takes two of the three shots from the dual pistols and hits the ground back first just as the Mando in red armor lands. Zuckuss cries out again, "I HAVE FOUND YOU.." BANG--whippp-CRACK. The target, fleeing the street of Freetown, has a contrail that cuts across the expanse in the blink of an eye, impacting his arm and spinning him around now absent the appendage. He screams out in agony and finds no mercy from the Gand that cycles the bolt of their rifle. "There is justice in" Heavy breath taken in and released, "..agonizing pain. Feel it and let the fear of death.." Another series of huffing breaths. "..take you."

Dailo scans about in place, both pistols held out in the ready. <"I see no others save the one foolish enough to fight the Kora Commander. Someone.. release those prisoners from the stockades.. others to the slave pins, and someone inform the jawas it is safe to come out of their mobile fortress."> Dailo, content with the outcome of the fight, spins both pistols and slides them home.

The Sand Crawler is at the other end of the city, casting a long shadow across the sand and buildings shaping the street. The stockades have a number of people stuck in them, most incapable of standing due to hunger and thirst, some were dead. Lastly, the slave pins were grated cages stacked on top of each other and stuffed with three women or six children. They are locked and set on a pallet prepared to be loaded onto a speeder truck (had they not been interrupted by the arrival of the posse).

The Jawas remain ensconced in their massive, mobile Fortress. The giant Sandcrawler bears some blast marks.. where the Swoopers tried to play Imerial Stormtrooper... but Uutkit's clan have resisted all attempts at entry. The lone Jawa-leader stands at the top of the crawler, peering over the edge... looking like he could taunt the Swoop-riders a second time.

And just like that, the fight was over. Well, quite likely for the best, and Amal, keeping her weapon at a low ready, began loping her way over towards the sandcrawler. She recognized something about it. And if her pace was a bit stilted now and them, as she tried to manage her injury, it just meant she arrived at the crawler slower than she intended. She did not know whether any of the jawas inside were the jawas she knew, but she gestured as well as offered the words in basic. Trust the species whose language was literal sign, to get it done, "The enemy has been eliminated. You're welcome to come and salvage." Except if they weren't, but, well, she'd deal with that later.

<"Ya know what ya can do with yer justice, you rekking, mouth-breathing bug?"> That would be Migs currently clutching the lower part of his leg just above the searing burn that has ruined yet another half-decent pair of pants. Doesn't matter if Zukkuss is talking to him or not. He's pissed off now.

/And/ there's nothing left to shoot. Growling, Migs sits back a little, leaning against the wall to take some of the weight off of his injured leg.

Kohnner kind of glanced towards Zuckuss as he did his... thing. You can't just not stare at that kind of performance. It's just captivating. Seeing the battle over-with, the Klatooinian flicks blood from his blade once more before taking a cloth to it to wipe his enemies entrails from the sharp piece of metal.

Moving his way towards the Swoop Gang's prisoners he finally sheath the blade. Observing the condition of them causes him reason to call over the comms; <<"There are several prisoners who are in need of medical attention. There are quite a few so help would be appreciated in freeing them.">>

Kohnner starts to free who he can, mostly those who are seemingly able to help free the others. <<"You are free now, medical attention is on the way.">>

Kalys stows her weapon as the fighting comes to a halt, and noting the presence of water tanks, and various other bits of makeshift storage filled with water stolen from about these parts, Kalys moves to get those taps working and flowing. Passing by the cages, Kalys pales at the sight of her fellow Tatooine natives. "We're here, you're safe... I'm going to get water! We'll get you out." Her voice reduced to a croak of gut-wrenching horror and guilt. Casting a glance upwards at the Sand Crawler fortress, Kalys raises a hand to the Jawa she spots up top, before moving on to fulfill her task. Whatever containers she can find are grabbed along the route, and soon that sweet sweet water is flowing. "We need cups, bowls. Anything!" And the water flows as she focuses, focuses so damned hard on wasting not a drop.

The Jawas peer down at Amal, chattering amongst each other. It doesn't take long for the MASSIVE ramp of the Sandcrawler to lower, with a grinding, mechanical whine, disgourging a multitude of little robed Scavengers, who quickly go about picking up whatever can be salvaged off the corpses and other bits of destruction. Curiously, the Jawas make a point of not scavening any weapons. Armor is fine, equipment is fine.. but they avoid blasters or explosives.

When the shooting tapers off and it looks like all of the Swoop gangers are down or fled, Hahtavi heads for the stocks where men of Freetown have been made prisoners. He lets his rifle hang by the tactical rig down the front of his armor and pulls out his medpac. Slowly he begins to free each man, cutting or breaking their bonds as he is able. Those that are in too bad a shape to move, he helps to lay down so he may try to assess and treat their injuries.

The Kora also removes his water canteen, <"Slow, sip it slowly."> Medpac opened up, he tears open a man's shirt who has been shot and prepares a hypo with painkiller and antibiotics for the man. <"These people need water.">

Risslan turns around in place, looking for something else that can be pursued and/or defeated. Alas, the fight seems to be over. Huh. When the orders go out, the Trandoshan hesitates a moment, seeing which jobs the others undertake before turning his clawed footfalls toward the slave cages. Without having a prepared battlecry for the *release* of prisoners, he mutters more quietly to the women and children in the course of breaking loose the cage doors. "oomb. I guess they want yastrya all released stamb, uh.. you wha go scryajdya, I shrox? scryajdya, I'm not going to eat you. Ugh, humans smell." [Language: Dosh]

The butt of a pistol grip crashes against his shoulder and a hand plants in the center of his chest to try and shove him back. Attempts to backpedal are met with lunging forward steps and the raising of one arm, bulked with a modified vambrace from which a strike-blade extends and hums to life.

The cheek guard of the iron helmet turns Hadrix's head and his arm swings round, the first sweep putting the vibrodagger between ribs and a wampa paw of a hand closes down on their shoulder when they begin to go limp, holding them up when the second strike goes past the ganger's head. Only for the third to go into their gut, one arm hoisting the dying form.

The big man tucks and gives a hard step to hurl the body like some sportsman throwing a shot, launching the body several meters to skid, bounce and roll in the sand while Al'Verde Kora looms, hands down, shoulders hunched and breathing heavily.

<"Rekking shoot me in the farkling damned kriffing face..."> each word bitten out with a wet growl.

As people are freed and given water, the town begins to come alive again. There are no cheers among the horrors, but there is hope and it came by way of force a frontier justice. Word of the Marshal's return lifted spirits, as well.

Zuckuss chuckles, answering Migs after another deep breath. "Find others who need it," He releases his breath and huffs again, "I imagine." The Gand walks over to Dailo Fett, patting her shoulder endearingly. "Not bad.." Huff, sigh. "..Little Hunter. This is only.." Huff, long siggggh. "...the beginning."

<"I know."> Lady Fett turns in place, watching the eager Jawas do what they did best. The weapons left on the ground are taken by the good folk of Free Town. They won't go down without a fight, now.

<"Heh-heh-heh.">. Caius is all chuckles as the last of the gangers fall. He chuckles even more when he settles to watch Hadrix wreak bloody vengeance on the one who shot him in the face. <"Poor bastard.">, Caius opines as he gets up on his one good leg, snaps his rifle closed and holsters it on his back. And that seems to be the limit of his actions, as he apparently has no plans to help the slaves out of their predicaments.

<"So, uh. Who do I go to to get paid?">, the man callously asks just before he unhelmets himself and swipes his sweat-stained hair back in an almost obsessive signet of cleanliness, his prosthetic oscillating in radiance as he watches the rest.