Log:Mighty Nobility
Aryn and Chani travel to Corellia to meet a King.
OOC Date: December 23, 2020
Location: Coronet City Starport, Corellia
Participants: Aryn Cole, Chani Tahn, Grom
As the Rainstorm lurched, and the engines carried it into lightspeed, Aryn glances over at Chani. "Tell me, Chani.. have you ever met a King before?" The Lady sits back in her seat then, relaxed and tucking back the loose blonde around her face. Her eyes turn to the display and the vortex of hyperspace as they travel the lane toward Corellia.
"A King? No. Naboo used to have a King, but it's been a long time since there was one. Our monarchy is not hereditary, and now we elect Queens." From the co-pilot's seat, stationed behind buttons on consoles she's never touched and likely will never touch any time soon, the young Naboo woman glances towards Aryn, hair tickling against the nape of her neck and against the padded cushions that are fashioned from the moulded into the vague shape a bipedal sentient might have when seated. "That reminds me, wasn't Alderaan a monarchy? I recall Princess Organa being the daughter of Alderaan's Queen. At least, that's what we were taught before it was revealed that was not the case. Does that mean you will become Queen?"
The Rainstorm arrives in system a few moments later, the nav-comp beeping to warn them of the impending lurch that brought them back to realspace. Aryn answers while taking controls. Up ahead, a looming First Order fleet shadows the Corellian capital world, the one surrounded by spacestations, orbital docks and shipyards. Aryn pays no mind to the curt warning of the First Order.
"In time, yes. I will be Queen. I must first marry, and before that, I must have fealty from all houses. Ours, unlike Naboo, is hereditary. My children will rule New Alderaan, and their children, and so on."
Impulse engines lead them toward Corellian and the world begins to dominate their view screen. Aryn is quick to bring them into one of the space lanes, and begins to coordinate a route to Coronet City. "Today, you have the honor of meeting the mightiest King of this age. He is an intimidating person, large and boisterous. He is called Grom. Grom, the mighty King of Fale. I count him among my friends, and I think, you will too."
Coronet City is a dazzling metropolis hazed in the pollution of industry and decorated by the lights of speeders, ships, shipyards, and the city itself. Unlike Coruscant, or even Nar Shaddaa, this city is built upon the ground proper and still makes use of streets. Aryn pilots them to the spaceport and sets down. "Ah, he is already waiting for us.." She indicates, pointing to the mountain of a Houk who stands with /literally/ no concept to the passing of time, heroically awaiting Aryn's arrival. "Hoods up here, Chani. We pass beneath the shadow of tyranny. Let us meet with King Grom and be about our business."
Swivelling on the seat's steam, Chani angles the chair towards the hatch leading out of the control cabin. "Wonderful. Another planet that wants to kill us." Her response is dry, but she doesn't hesitate to rise out of the seat and leave the cabin. As she passes through the interior corridor, her hands lift to her shoulders, where her fingers grasp at the edges of the hood to drag it up from its resting place against her back. It's drawn up and over her head, angled to conceal her face with shadows if not the fabric of the robe itself. They dip to the front of the robe, then, and grasp it to draw it closer, concealing her in the embrace of the outer shell and removing any glimpse of her skin save what angles can be seen of her face when her arms take solace in the cavernous embrace of the sleeves cloaking them.
Grom stands at the base of a bulk freight loading ramp that leads into a battered old GR75 Gallofree transport. The shell-shaped upper hull is dotted by heavy weapon blisters clustered very inefficiently around the cockpit, as if anything the pilot could not see ceased to exist. The already large Houk is made bulkier still by the presence of heavy powered armor that emits the whirring of servomotors with every exaggerated movement of its wearer. He is in the midst of a monologue to a resolute (yet still confused) looking human boy of about twelve years, who is carrying a random assortment of weapons and hear in an awkward bundle. "Many were the mighty blows traded- none mightier than GROM'S, of course- and in the end, after a MIGHY DUEL the small- BUT VERY POWERFUL- foe surrendered to Grom and withdrew. That is the story of how THE MIGHTY GROM defeated the Tiny Wizard King of Corellia. Grom did not wish to claim his planet, though. Its smell offends the Gromnose."
Grom stands at the base of a bulk freight loading ramp that leads into a battered old GR75 Gallofree transport. The shell-shaped upper hull is dotted by heavy weapon blisters clustered very inefficiently around the cockpit, as if anything the pilot could not see ceased to exist. The already large Houk is made bulkier still by the presence of heavy powered armor that emits the whirring of servomotors with every exaggerated movement of its wearer. He is in the midst of a monologue to a resolute (yet still confused) looking human boy of about twelve years, who is carrying a random assortment of weapons and hear in an awkward bundle. "Many were the mighty blows traded- none mightier than GROM'S, of course- and in the end, after a MIGHY DUEL the small- BUT VERY POWERFUL- foe surrendered to Grom and withdrew. That is the story of how THE MIGHTY GROM defeated the Tiny Wizard King of Corellia. Grom did not wish to claim his planet, though. Its smell offends the Gromnose."
The second robed figure bears no hint of green in her ensemble, only the browns and creams and rough fabrics of one who might be working class. She descends the ramp of the ship with eased steps, boots thunking against the durasteel, textured surface before transitioning to the more notable taps against the duracrete making up the ground's surface. The hood itself angles up once she's no longer descending, and there's no such quick movement forward to meet with the Houk who was yelling just prior to the woman's greeting. Coming closer to the trio to turn them into a quartet, Chani glances between the young boy and the mountain of a sentient towering over all of them. For a moment, she is silent. "Is this the King you were talking about?"
"Wounds? Grom LAUGHS at wounds. HA," yes he shouted the word 'ha' rather than laughing. "NONE can truly wound Grom, though MANY HAVE TRIED." Lyle Tenara goes from nodding with enthusiasm to Chani when she recognizes his name, and says it's nice to meet him, to looking at Grom when the wounded Houk declared he can't be wounded. "Um. Well, the Gromsquire needs to clean your armor. Which is not as mighty as Grom. So.. you'll need to take off the armor, King Grom." It's not terribly clever as ploys go, but it is enough. "Hurm. A FINE POINT. Very well, the Throneship!"
"Thank you," Aryn says softly to Lyle, messing his hair up a bit and smiling. Aryn looked to Chani and smiled, then followed Grom to the mighty throneship. The interior did not seem to bother Aryn, its theatrics were likely tied to Grom's exploits, and in a way, told his story about rising to many challenges across the galaxy.
When time came for Aryn to work on Grom, she shed her cape and opened a medical kit to begin fixing the thick blue scale exterior of his skin. Like a dragon, it was thick and difficult to manage, but Aryn was familiar enough with Grom to know how to mend him. She assumed Grom might share stories. "These look like they hurt," Aryn comments, pulling a dead scale free!
"Lovely.. decorating.." Chani's breathing comes clearly through her mouth rather than her nose, as the pants following the commentary are slightly audible rather than not, and her lips are parted to distinguish a distinct gap between them. She stays near the ramp rather than following Aryn and the tall Houk deeper, unsettled by the sights and appearances of what are present and doing her best not to show any kind of thing in the way she postures herself or speaks. She's thankful, instead, for the air wafting up the open ramp of the ship, rather than having to attempt to contend with the foetid scent threatening to overpower her senses and make her forget what the smell of anything else was like. Yes, Chani is content to wait right where she is.
Grom rambles with great enthusiasm and middling clarity about a great battle fought against a number of other Houk on "Large mooned Beast World" where apparently two bands of champions had nearly massacred one another for sport. The story is a long one, accompanied by large gestures, at least one of which suddenly fouls Aryn's medical efforts. The Tenara kid offers to Chani, "Grom says the smell of victory makes a nose stronger.. but there's some breath masks in the case on the wall, if you want."
Aryn finishes her work, albeit slightly flustered she had been unable to correct one scale like the other two. Regardless, she went to cleaning the tool, listening to Grom as he regaled the battle move-by-move: COUNTER TO THE LOW STRIKE! SURPRISE SPRINTING SWING! Aryn follows along in the tone of a doting physician, "Uh huh. That was soo crafty. They should have learned to fight from GROM."
"I'll be fine, thank you," Chani murmurs back to the young Tenara boy, gaze never leaving Aryn's work as the Princess tends to the King. As the story grows in grandeur and Aryn provides her placating remarks, Chani can't help but muse on how the dignified noble and the warrior monarch came to met. She reminds herself to inquire about it later, seeing as now would be an inopportune time to interrupt the royal's grand recounting of his magnificent battle with his foes. She glances back to Vhe's brother and speaks once more. "Are you not like us? I thought.. such talents," She's careful of her phrasing. "Were familial. How did you come to be the King's squire? I don't mean to pry, of course. You don't have to explain anything." In truth, Chani is just biding time.
Like them? "Human? Well.. yes, but Grom doesn't hold it against me," the Tenara boy states. The question of how he came to be the GROMSQUIRE clouds Lyle's face for a moment, but he soldiers on with an answer. "My family ship was on Two-Sun Sand world.. Tattooine," he adds for clarity. "Stormtroopers came for us. I don't know why, but mother and father.. they told me to hide. I didn't listen long enough." A swallow. "I got shot a little bit.. Vhe came back with Grom, and the stormtroopers.." he gestures at one of the impaled helmets. "Vhe said to stay with him, when she went with the rebels. He's training me how to be strong. A warrior. Even if I'm not a Houk."
Aryn finishes cleaning the gear and storing it. Her satchel is zipped shut and she turns on a pen light and circles the massive Houk, shining a light at his scaly body to look for any other anomalous injuries still in need of repair. "Wow, all three of them at once?" Aryn intones, her voice evident of the doctor's focus on his body and not necessarily the mighty tale.
"Ah, I see. Aryn is training me how to be strong, too." Chani offers the boy a smile, then abandons the subject to once again turn her attention towards the mentioned Princess. Her concentration seems singular, though her prodding urges the Houk to continue with his story. She wonders, briefly, why she's using her medical instruments, and finds herself with yet another thing on the list to ask about. Arms adjusting themselves, Chani's breath continues to come through her mouth, though the longer she lingers where she is, the easier it gets to breathe. She no longer feels her stomach churning at the slightest inhale. Her gaze flicks further around the cargo hold of the transport, wondering how long such a macabre collection has taken to amass.
"Grom is a MIGHTY MULTITASKER," the Houk declares to Aryn's distracted response. Then the treatment is done, and the hulking reptile booms, "TO ARMS, now that Grom's armor is clean, Grom must prepare to hunt Engine Riding humans- not YOUR Engine Riding human," he adds in assurance to Aryn, before clarifying, "CRIMINAL Engine Riding Humans. Grom has been assured they are dangerous and VERY FAST MOVING foes." Lyle adds to Chani "Good luck with your training, Queen-squire," before hurrying to help Grom choose from his ridiculous array of weapons for whatever fight he is expecting.
"Fight well, Mighty Grom. Let me know if I must visit again," Aryn offers, stepping wide of the Grom to avoid being in his way. He did not move from the path of others, they moved out of his path. Such was the practice of Kings, more so towering reptile Champion warriors. "He's all yours, Gromsquire." Aryn says in passing, pausing to look back while donning her medical pack. "Well, Chani. I believe it is our time to depart." Aryn fastens her cape back in place and pulls her hood back up. Without any further departing gesture, Aryn returns to the tarmac and her ship thereafter.
"As you say," Chani responds to the Princess. "Farewell, Your Majesty." Her raised voice is to the King who goes to find his mighty armament, but she does not wait before descending the ramp, exiting the transport and breathing deeply of the fresh air that tickles at the hood of her robe and at the dark hair beneath it. "There are some things I'm curious about, when we get a chance to talk." If nothing else, saying so will help Aryn remind her to bring up the matters she wishes to discuss later. "Do you have any other business, here, or are we leaving, leaving?" The Princess' talk about Corellia being a place of tyranny and the presence of Star Destroyers in orbit are enough to convince Chani that it's the latter, but she checks all the same.
Grom chooses weapons by speaking to them, and moderating what appears to be an argument between the heavy rifle, light carbine, axe, sword, and pike. The thermal detonator is pouting and not taking part.
