Log:Spoiled Harvest

Spoiled Harvest

OOC Date: July 15, 2017
Location: Wild Space
Participants: Adhar Gann, Stavros, Sar Yavok, Krackor, Eilam, Kylo Ren, Sesti Gath, Ambrosia Greystorm, Leia Organa(As GM)

Wild Space.

Traditionally speaking Wild Space is the area of space just beyond the Outer Rim. Home to a myriad expanse of unmapped and thereby vastly unexplored planets known only by whispers, the accidental stumbling upon, or the oh so convenient knowing-of-a-guy-who-knows-a-guy-on-this planet-way-out-there. In the deep recesses of wild space the planet Elke is in a slow orbit around the super star Iminec, the planet itself possessing a humid atmosphere amid jungles that seem to sweat moisture down on the humans calling the planet home. The planet is a known source of trade in the recesses of Wild Space for those who know how to find it, and also the perfect place to go if you wish to not be found.

The city Threktahl is a mid-sized settlement nestled in the shadow of the planet's largest mountain. The largest structure is perhaps the wide dirt landing pad that serves as a center of business for the trade ships that come in to collect cargo holds full of Elkean gems. The city's largest source of income being the massive cave structure carved into the side of the mountain where those very gems are mined. Shanties are arranged in a cramped style, home to miners and their children, while the rest of the city/town is simple markets and taverns.

The GT-B8 Gambit ultralight freighter Arcadian Rhythm parked on that dirt landing pad isn't here for gems. It didn't launch for gems, at any rate: Stavros is looking for a guy who got off the grid. Now that he's here, though, he can't help but notice how shiny they are as he witnesses said gems being loaded up into cargo crates and then onto trade ships. When a foreman seems to be taking a break, he shows him a datapad with a picture of a wanted sapient on it, sans any WANTED sign. "I'm looking for my brother. There's been a death in the family." He pauses, then adds, "I'm adopted." He has a rifle deconstructed in a duffel bag at his side and a pistol ready at his belt, but he's taking advantage of his species' reputation in the hope that no one will view him as even remotely threatening.

Gemstones mean money. Credits. Hard electronically-tracked cash - or, in some places, the means of transaction themselves. Why else would you go to a place like this on /purpose/?

While the architecture is far from perfect, the money's good - and so here is Adhar Gann, just emerged from the duraplast shack set up on the edge of the landing field by the mining company. The bulbous, organic shape of his ship seems at home here in the jungle, even though it was made by the denizens of a water world; the misting rain throws a haze over the hull of the Lady of Taanab, the Deepwater-class freighter hosting a chain of droids who carry crates of gems up into the ship's cargo bay line a line of ants. Adhar looks out across the field and sighs. The heat's the thing. It's always the thing in a place like this. Gets into everything. Sooner he's away into the endless cold of space, the better.

Learning of this place and the resources thereof in wildspace was a total accident. Eilam had discovered mention of the place in one of the old books he had purchased. Nothing concrete, but it had hyperspace coordinates and referred to a bit about the planet - so on a whim, the recently freed Slave paid a transport ship to see what was at the coordinates and bring him along, and... here he was, walking around the city quietly, mostly to himself. No weapons, no armor or anything of the sort, just the Ghostling dressed lightly in a robe and hood, and a light satchel that he had with him as he wandered, in case something caught his eye to purchase. So far, though, nothing.

Krackor Reincus makes his way down the street; the cigara held in his mouth trailing a thin line of smoke behind him as he moves. He checks the time while idly browsing one of the stalls set up along the way. It'd still be a little while before they were done loading up his ship. He looks around and sighs heavily. Being from Tatooine, he was used to backwaters. But at least there was stuff to do. As he wasn't too keen on checking out that mine, it looked like he'd have to pass the time here. Wonderful.

The sound of ship engines overhead likely draw the attention of anyone on the ground. The scream of ion engines drive a host of TIE fighters across the sky overhead, and soon to follow comes a pair of black troop transports which angle in and drift to a landing nearby the Arcadian Rhythm. Both landing hatches open and touch down with a mechanical hiss, allowing red light to spill outward from the interior before rows of glossy white armored Storm Troopers file out, their boots thudding on the packed earth in perfect sequence. Their blasters are held in a diagonal fashion across their chest, at the ready, and their intent seems focused as the march across the landing area and toward the rows of little shanty houses.

Thump thump thump, the rhythmic tramp of armored boots on the dirt, individual footsteps amplified by the perfectly synchronized cadence of their step. The trooper in the lead of the column raises a gloved fist before signaling down along the first 'street' of the shanty houses, and the troops divide into smaller groups of three, hustling ahead to stack up on either side of their doors, two on one side and one on the other. Before anyone really has time to react to the sudden dispersal, another signal passes, and the extra trooper steps into the middle to crash a heavy foot through the door. In some instances, it takes two or three kicks, but the troopers are going in, vocoders harshly commanding occupants "Freeze!" "Nobody move!" "Get on the ground!" While the group from one of the transports starts this maneuver, the other transport's unit stands attentively, blasters raised.

Stavros studies the foreman dispassionately as the muscular man glances over the picture for a moment and shakes his head. After a short pause, the Zeltron nods. "Thanks. If you see him-" Whatever he was going to suggest or offer the man is lost to the ages, for at the sound of twin ion engines, his eyes snap up to the skies, and he turns until he sees the overflight- and just as concerning, the shuttles and the stormtroopers. "Of course they land next to _my_ ship," he mutters. "Does this happen often, here?" he tries to ask the foreman, but when he glances back over at the man, that man is not where he was. He is, instead, trying to keep his people calm, even though some of them look like they want to run away. They're next to a shipping crate they were loading- which is pretty good cover, the Zeltron recognizes. "Great time for a rain, too," he mutters again. His left hand twitches, torn between putting a hand near his pistol so he can draw quickly, and keeping it _away_ from the pistol, lest he be seen as hostile. He looks to see if there is any path that gets him to the Rhythm _without_ crossing in front of the shuttles.

Oh, good. The bastard children of the Empire have arrived. Whilst the droids continue to load the Lady, Adhar looks on with narrowed eyes; this is not his scene, and these are not his people, but the First Order is a pack of sore-loser fascists and this whole thing will not do. What to do about it, though? CAN he do anything about it? Well, of course you can, Adhar. What matters is can you do something, get out intact, and not have the whole of the Order out for you with the long knives? Probably not. Mind you, if they plan on doing what he thinks they're going to do, he might not let that matter. No mass executions if he can help it.

The unmistakable sound of TIEs screaming overhead is more than enough to get Krackor's attention. His head whips around and up to scan the sky and quickly spots the fighters and the ships they're escorting. His eyes flicker to his ship parked right there on the landing strip. So close to where those First Order troopers are coming from. "Next time I wish for excitement, shoot me." he says to the shopkeeper staring along with everyone else. He's sure the guy didn't even hear him.

That sound was something Eilam was... to a point familiar with. From Nar Shaddaa. The First Order had been back and forth there for some time and he'd actually been caught up in one of their impromptu ordeals in the slums at one point. The ghostling in a cloak paused and stepped to the side of the road he was on, watching as the transports and fighters did their thing, some landing, some unloading. Amidst the others being here and there, Eilam took the path of least resistance.

He obeyed.

Placing the satchel he had with him on the ground, Eilam knelt on it and at that point just seemed to wait, seeing what was going to happen. Sure, he was a little worried, but it was largely out of his control at the moment.

The citizens inside the shanty houses scream and yell out in shock and terror as the First Order soldiers kick in the doors of their homes and barge inside. Largely they react in fear, trying to flee or else cowering overtop of their children, pushing them into corners or behind dilapidated furniture. Some very few actually try to fight back, wielding primitive weapons to swing toward the armored soldiers, though such efforts will no doubt prove futile. The squadron of TIE fighters above continue to patrol back and forth, back and forth, the scream of their engines never getting far enough away to not be heard. The sound of marching soldiers and screaming civilians, roaring engines fill the air for a long few beats and then.... more. The howling engines of a squadron of X-wings precede the dip of the Resistance ships as they drop through the cloudcover above and fire angry red bolts at the TIEs which scramble and take to evasive maneuvers. A troop transport rockets in under the cover of that fire, dropping into a small clearing barely wide enough to allow it to land before Resistance soldiers begin to bail out.

The occasional blaster fire barks out inside the shanties as misguided attempts to resist ensue, but these scattered shots pale in comparison to the sound and fury of the dogfight that begins above. When the Resistance troops begin to fan out from their transport, the unit of troopers in the street scatters for cover, their squad leader yelling "Contact front! Resistance troops inbound, coming from the clearing!" Once behind cover, their blasters spit bolts of energy toward the disembarking troops, trying to stop them before they have a chance to find better cover.

Ah, kids. They're blunt, they're smelly, they're loud, they laugh at farts and fart when they laugh. Not so different from the opposite end of the age spectrum. Maybe that's why, of all the sort of people LC Greystorm loathes to deal with, children are among those she despises the least. Marginally. That Wroonian kid from Shaddaa being an exception - definitely didn't like that one.

Crouched here in the jump seat, her knee aches, just thinking about it. Or maybe that's because after so many weeks in heels and dressup clothes, rubbing fake elbows with the upper eschelons of society, she's forgotten what it's like to tromp in boots. Nah.....gotta be the Wroonian kid. She'll still give Leia some overdue complaints about the heels, though.

Anyway: Kids. Spawn. Younglings. It's why she's here. Not because she's keen to add any more to her existing brood, but because according to intercepted intel, the First Order would like to add some to theirs, and this, the Resistance cannot abide. Not after the kiddie scout disaster launched by the FO base on Nar. Man, that was a mess. Sooo many kids to rehome. Stupid, whiny...grumpy Greystorm gets just a little bit grumpier thinking about it. Also, she's past due a pill. Remembering this only because of the way her chest kerfluffles when she stands abruptly to lead her squad out, the old rebel fishes around hastily in her pack to produce one of a few bottles, shakes out a tablet, and hoping it's the right one, crunches it bitterly between teeth "All right, heads out yer asses, and eyes on the prize!" She barks as the shuttle and ramp begin to drop simultaneously. "Fan out and hit'em hard. That'll keep'em occupied. You, you, and you," she singles out a few troops, including her daughter-in-law, "With me. We get into those trees and clear the shacks, stealth-like, copy?" A pause, then "And oh yeah. Don't shoot the kids." Aw, what a softy you've become, Ambrosia. And out they pour, blasters blazing.

Said daughter in law is armed with her usual blades and blasters, and also with her field medic's kit. Usually, the medic isn't supposed to be running out with the lead groups into the thick of the fighting, but usually medics don't have LC Greystorm for a mother in law. Besides, if something happens to her husband's mother, she'll have hell to pay. She nods at the invitation to join Amber, and draws her blaster to hit the ground running, behind and slightly fanning out to the right.

Hot damn! It's a fight now, and Adhar blinks in surprise at the sight of S-foils deployed and spitting fire. He has a moment - just a moment - of hesitation, and then he's heading briskly toward the Lady, trying his best not to call attention, as he mutters into a comlink on his wrist. "Get it going, Wiz," he commands over the ether; on board the ship, an R2 unit warming a spot in the cockpit springs to life and plugs himself into a control socket. The engines begin to hum.

Stavros sees an opportunity, with the Resistance's arrival, to make it across the flattened dirt that is the landing pad towards his ship, the Arcadian Rhythm, and he takes it at a steady jog, hampered by the duffel bag full of sniper rifle. He thumbs his comlink: "Razz, start pre-flight. We are getting out of here." A confirming beep and trill of Binary sounds back before he cuts the comlink back off. He starts to pass by the Lady of Taanab, but recognizes that owner-operator, and slows down. "Adhar? Really?" He glances at the ship. "We just keep running into each other. Who knew they'd give carc-rat's backside about a run-down mining town, right?" There is no time like the present for socializing, but as he looks at Adhar and his steady retreat towards his ship, his eyes narrow. "Adhar. Adhar. Look at me! Whatever you're thinking- no!" More quietly, he says, "You smell like hero. Righteos, angry. Don't do it. These people don't mess around. Please - don't."

"'Take that job on Elke.', he says. 'Its easy credits.'...." Krackor growls to himself as his quiet boring day turns into all out holy hell. He jumps as the X-wings seemingly appear out of nowhere and start firing on the TIES. "Oh for the love of...." he shouts, throwing his hands over his head and scampering for cover. He finds a place behind an overturned display table. Hardly adequate, but its something for the moment while he tries to figure out just what his next move is gonna be.

The canopy of the Eta-2 interceptor cracks open and reveals the battle-hardened Mr. Grumpy Pants (or 'Sar' to his friends) begins climbing out. "Rexie, I don't know what's happenin', but...y'know...just keep the engine runnin'." The battered Stormtrooper armor-wearing mercenary drops off the edge of his fighter onto the tarmac and looks around. Unclipping the helmet from his belt, he holds it at the ready as he begins wandering towards any sort of action he can find.

By all appearances chaos has completely broken loose in the tiny mining town. First Order soldiers begin to reemerge from the shanties, many turning to face the oncoming Resistance soldiers and rain fire down on them, angry blaster bolts sizzling through the air to attempt and strike down the Resistance soldiers as they get out of the transport, true to orders. Others remain behind, dragging dirty children out of the houses and toward their waiting transports by their hair, arms, or whatever handhold best ensures the crying and screaming kids come with them. Resistance fire heads back the same way, a few striking First Order soldiers even from this distance and takin them down, even as a few Resistance personnel take hits and drop to the ground.

Above, the dogfight rages on, one TIE fighter taking a heavy hit and spinning out of control to crash into the jungle in a fiery explosion, one X-wing careening out of the pilot's grasp and crashing straight into the cliff face.

Another set of twin sublight ion engines whine through the sky as an Upsilon-class shuttle comes streaking in on its long folding wings. The craft lifts those long panels over its head as it circles for a landing, TIE escort engaging any X-wings that get too close. Lights running along the underside of the ship come to life, and the boarding ramp opens and extends, a dark figure striding down the gangplank onto the dirt landing pad below. His cowled hood turns one way and then the other, taking in the scene, mirrored black visor gleaming darkly and reflecting the blasts and flashes of the skirmish in stark technicolor.

One of the troopers runs over to brief him on the situation, but a harsh, amplified voice cuts him off. "I am more than capable of deducing what's gone wrong here. Inform General Hux this is the last time I will be intervening on behalf of his training program." Without waiting for further communication from the trooper, he begins to stride toward the conflict, his black garments whipping in the wind behind him.

As they get whipped and clawed by scraggly jungle foliage, sprinting pell mell into cover, Ambrosia briefly - just briefly - decides that maybe living life abroad undercover(s) wasn't so bad and maybe - just maybe - she is getting too old for this shit. Once there's enough trunks'n'vines between them and the main firefight, though, the boots slow and breathing slows and all becomes quiet. The birds overhead have long since gone silent, but insects are less bright and continue their low, droning hum. "Move quickly," she states the obvious to her little gang, gesturing down the approximated line to the first shack outside the treeline. Basically, they're just gonna come in through the proverbial backdoor. "Eyes in the sky, you copy? Gonna need you hurry up with the rainshower on the FO transports, you got that? BEFORE they're loaded with kids? They aren't getting off this rock," she growls into her helmet, then proceeds with the task at hand, blade drawn. The remaining troops storming the stormies are mostly scrambling for cover of their own behind shipping crates, to continue to fire from behind, but a few have branched out, making a beeline to intercept children-hauling troopers with a more manual approach. "Let them GO!" a rather ambitious, young LT shouts.

The jungle isn't exactly a natural place for the Zabrak, but Sesti keeps up with Amber, and grins as the older woman draws a blade. She quickly stows her blaster and draws her narrow vibrosword in one hand, and a vibroknife in the other. Her bearing shifts as she switches the weapons, seeming to be more comfortable, and ready for anything.

He's about to break into a run when Stavros grabs his arm, and Adhar is spun around to look at him - or rather, stare into the man's face with an electric fury crackling in his dark eyes. "No," he hisses, velvet soft and cold as the void. "No! They don't get the /children/." Oh. That's a...that's a chainsaw-in-your-hands-standing-over-a-would-be-victim look. That's not good. He breaks free, turning back and calling, "Whatever, man, I'm out of here!" in a much louder, believable voice reserved for panic traders and not a man radiating the hatred of the under-suns from his core.

Accidents happen. He just has to trick them into shooting at him. He doesn't have to fire a shot.

With all of the chaos going on, people, terrorists possibly (at least if one goes by how they were described on Nar Shaddaa, which is about all Eilam has to judge them by), firing at first order? First order here doing /something/? The Ghostling in the cloak seemed hesitant about the idea of getting up, though finally when a stray blaster shot gets a bit too close, he lets out a startled sound and leans sideways, raising and grabbing the satchel he was kneeling on before trying to find somewhere to run to.

Just where he was running to he had no idea, but /away/ from the chaos was probably a good thing. Of course, with all the stuff going on above, he head was bobbing upwards and forward trying to make sure nothing fell on top of him. "Where do I even go..." He couldn't hide in a house, if he did there was no way he could see if something fell above him, but where else? Maybe if he could round-about get to the landing pad area, maybe his transport was still there? Hard to say, but the slightly glowing figure ran what he could.

"Son of a-" Stavros breathes the words out, then looks back- the firefight is ongoing, the battle for the sky is just as hot, and an unexpected variable is about to make anything that _hadn't_ hit the fan yet hit it hard. "Hey!" he shouts at Adhar. "Hail home's traffic control!" And with that he resumes his sprint to his own ship, tapping in the code, and running up the ramp, dropping his duffel bag midway up the ramp. After a few moments, on the traffic control frequency used by Nar Shaddaa, Stavros's voice can be heard. "You read, partner? Let's go all-in." Stavros starts pulling his heavy armor on in the safety and comfort of the ship. "Fire up everything, Razz. When I give the word, you raise that ramp and take off." He starts setting up his rifle, too- bipod first, the rest, all set up halfway up the ramp."

Krackor is many things. A smuggler. A criminal. A bit of a drinker. One thing he is not is a hero. Never has been, never plans to be. So all these citizens...the men and the women and the children...he doesn't give a mynock's ass about any of them. Pushing himself to his feet, he dives into the panicked crowd and begins to slowly weave his way around the edge of the shanty area. If he could just manage to work his way toward his ship, he might find some better odds. A stray blast from a fighter whooshing by overhead causes the ground nearby to explode; sending a shower of white-hot sand and dirt into the air.

Sar Yavok unzips his nexu-fur collared jacket and reveals the rest of the stormie armor (and myriad of weapons) residing beneath it. He grunts and begins to idly wander in the direction of the First Order soldiers. One hand is calmly resting on the strap of his E-11 while the other is loosely gripping the stormtrooper helmet. A few short, snipped breaths and he lowers the helmet down over his head, the bright red Rebel Yell phoenix gleaming proudly against the matte green finish of the rest of the armor.

"Show up to track a no-account drug dealer, end up fightin' the whole First Order. Great," deadpans the now-modulated voice of the Old Man. Spying the soldiers dragging off the kids, Sar's brow furrows within the confounds of his helmet. "Well, I can't leave now," he vocalizes. Swinging his carbine around towards the front of his person, Sar begins a slow march towards the First Order troops. The weapon is hefted to his shoulder and the safety is toggled off. "That you, Stavros?" he asks over the channel, his HUD now lighting up with IFF signatures as he gets closer to the action.

The majority of the military personnel seem to have their hands full with one another too much to really pay much attention to the two civilian ships powering up. Combat rages on all around, and the townspeople are making a run for it, trying desperately to get out of the way and toward the mines where blaster fire surely won't penetrate. Mothers of the children being dragged off are having to be dragged away themselves, forced to watch as the white armored soldiers carry their kids away through the rain of blaster fire.

Above, the X-wings and TIE fighters continue to sweep back and forth at breakneck speeds. It would appear that the Resistance seems to be winning the aerial battle, a few TIE's having already been dropped to burn in the Jungle. On the ground, the sides seem fairly evenly matched as the lines of Stormtroopers provide a screen for the soldiers that are dragging children.

Above a Resistance pilot speaks into his comms, "Roger that, Lt. Colonel. Red 3, break away and get some fire on those enemy transports. Keep them grounded."

The dark figure strides steadily towards the fighting, where the stormtroopers are hastily trying to load new recruits onto the transports and the Resistance is desperately trying to prevent any from being loaded. A brave individual, a lieutenant, actually, is in the middle of yelling "Let them GO!" while leading his fireteam to assault the First Order lines from the flank. It's on this flank that the black-clad figure descends.

A snapping, hissing, guttering shriek of tortured ozone spews a raging, unstable red blade from the silver handle in his hand, two gouts of fire breathing haggardly above his hand to either side. His long arm draws back and brings the furious weapon crashing down on the unsuspecting young officer as he seems to step almost straight from thin air dragging a weapon from the underworld behind him. The poor victim is all but cleaved in two, dropping in a smoking, twitching mass of singed clothing and steaming flesh. Nearby Resistance soldiers scream in terror and rage, opening fire on the figure, who bats their shots away with that hellish blade when any come too close for comfort.

Sesti takes a gunner to flank her to infiltrate the first shanty, while Ambrosia takes the other trooper to accompany her to the next in line. Blaster'n'blade, blaster'n'blade, on down the line. If said shanty is clear, they move on to the next. The hope is that at the end of these hasty housecalls, they can attack that line of stormies from the rear. But better ensure their own backs will be clear, first! Amber is rolling back out an empty one's window when she hears the cry over her com:

"He's here! It's Ren!" amid a vicious background of blaster ricochets and screams.

The aging soldier gives pause, looking up and back towards the distant sounds of death. Her ragged breathing stalls, then resuming with a more hiccuped rhythm. "Fall back, but keep firing. AIR SUPPORT - how small a target you boys and girls think you can hit?" And she resumes a much more rushed run along the shanty line, peeping in windows.

The Lady's boarding plank is already closing as Adhar charges on board, a train of rage at full steam with absolutely /zero/ brakes. Through the core of the ship and into the cockpit in an instant, he pants as he drops into the pilot's seat, face red with exertion and fury. The droid, still docked, turns to track him in surprise. "Get the bay ready, Wiz," he all but growls, yanking back the ascension controls, his free hand on the yoke. "And get ready to act on my order." Outside, the sleek marine ship rockets up on its repulsors, turning on a column of antigravitic energy whilst the drives roar to life and blue thunder rolls around its flanks; the buzz of ionization puts hairs on end, scatters trash, fills the air with a sudden whining roar. And then...the freighter tears off at top speed, sending a shockwave across the landing field as it heads for the landed transports.

The Deepwater class light freighter has a capacity of 85 metric tonnes of cargo.

The Lady is filled with 85 tons of precious stones in heavily armored crates.

The ship sails over the transports, a fluid, glittering missile. "Emergency blow," bellows Adhar, gripping the controls, the world a single stern point of focus. "Dump the cargo! Now!"

The Lady hauls 85 metric tons of cargo. Until suddenly it doesn't. As the freighter sails over the transports at high speed, the cargo hatches blow - and now eighty-five tons of armored crates are whistling down upon the landed ships, one great metal wave of rushing kinetic death.

Stavros is armored and armed, prone on the ramp of the Arcadian Rhythm alongside his rifle. As his own helmet's HUD begins to light up, highlighting the sources of the blaster fire heading in his general direction, he hears a familiar voice. "Sar?" he says wonderingly, as he begins to line up a shot. "Did everyone buy second homes here and not tell me?"

"Why can't we all leave well enough alone?" he asks anyone on the comm channel. Through the scope, he sees a stormtrooper dragging a girl by the hair and trying to get a grip on her shoulder. The freighter adjacent to his blasting to the air doesn't surprise him, though he is buffeted by the air. When he sees the cargo being dumped, his eyes widen. "You crazy nunch-a-pall! I think I like you," Stavros decides, realigning his rifle on the stormtrooper he saw before. Humor gone, he lines up the sights on the trooper's chest and neck region. He takes a deep breath and answers his own question in a low voice: "Lashiystrae kidnappers." He exhales, then pulls the trigger. The bolt is the the first to come against the First Order from their rear, and it takes the unsuspecting soldier at the neck joint. "Kill confirmed," Stavros whispers without emotion.

With his attention focused on the scene unfolding in the shanty-zone, Krackor doesn't immediately notice that his route is taking him into the edges of the jungle. Before he finally realizes it, he's nearly surrounded by trees and undergrowth. His first instinct is to go right back out, but a backwards glance shows him the image of the lightsaber-wielding figure in black slicing another man in two. "Jungle's not so bad..." he says, adding a little more hustle and a little less caution to step. The sound of a ship taking off causes him to look down toward the landing pad just in time to see the rain of gems and cargo containers falling on the First Order ships. He winces as if feeling a sudden pain. "All those credits..." he laments softly moving along.

"H-help!" someone screamed out near Eilam, turning to look towards them in a confused manner. Help what? Were they talking to him? Oh, no, probably like the rest, himself included, they were trying to get to safety. Only the one near trying to get help was an older woman and presumably her daughter, trying to help her run away from all this but she'd stumbled and wasn't having the best of times walking. Pausing to look up above him and seeing nothing, thankfully, Eilam looked nearby only to frown when some freighter just... dumped its' cargo all over the place, likely leading to some very unhappy endings. "H-hey, where are you two going to?" asked the ghostling of the fleeing pair of women. They seemed surprised, "Are we dead already? An angel?" A common enough misconception that Eilam didn't try to correct it, "No, you are alive... and I would like to stay that way too. Where are you going, is it s-" A blaster shot went through the area, leaving him to jump back and the pair to quickly scramble into an alleyway. Wincing, the ghostling did the next best thing he could think of. Ducking into an open manhole at least a little. He went down what he could then stood off to the side inside the terrible-smelling place, hoping it might provide better protection than the rest so he could try and wait things out.

Standing in front of the line of Stormies is Sar Yavok, looking every bit like the gunslinger he is. The Old Man's decided to make his presence on the battlefield know. He squeezes the trigger of the rifle and and sends a mean-sounding bolt down-range to punch straight through the visor of an FO soldier's dome-piece, sending him slumping against a wall. Now that he's a threat, a Stormie begins a banza charge toward him, so Sar lets the E-11 fall against his chest with the support of his one-point sling, and pulls the sleeve of his jacket back, revealing the RLW-77 wrist laser clasped around his forearm. He barely takes the time to line up a shot, and it shows, as the bolt very nearly flies wide and only manages to scorch the soldier's arm.

The First Order Transports have no hope of dodging all of those crates of heavy gems responding to the beck and call of gravity and pulling the heavy containers down on them. The vessel shields hold for a while, but in low power mode on the ground, they eventually give way. The forward viewport of first one transport and then the other shatters under the weight of the dropping cargo, and then the heavy rain of crates slams dents and caves in other parts of the ships, crashing down on the boarding ramps and breaking them clean from the ship before filling in the open ports and all but creating a silent tomb for those soldiers and few children already on board. The rest of the cargo does it's job as it crashes into several storm troopers, hammering them to the ground and sending a red mist of blood spraying from the sudden crushing pressure. Adhar's ship launching into the air does draw the attention of a few First Order TIEs which soon open fire on the Mon Cal ship, the heavy blaster cannons sending fire that begins to crash into the ship's shields.

The soldier Stavros shoots goes down in a heap and the girl it had been dragging turns tail and runs away, dodging through the falling crates and blaster fire like a wild rabbit, hands over her head as she runs for the mines.

The destruction of the transport all but destroys any semblance of a success here. A Resistance trooper's life is only spared by the crash of the cargo crates that distracts the Master of the Knights of Ren from the crushing Force-grip he'd held on the woman's throat. The masked face turns toward the sparkling heap of wreckage, staring silently for a long moment. Then the angry red blade recedes into its hilt and the dark figure begins to walk back toward his shuttle, long strides carrying him quickly.

The homes are clear - only signs of struggle remain, and maybe an unfortunate corpse or two. The four Resistance fighters have run around to the 'front' of these homes, then put shoulders to the walls for cover and lean around to fire on the rear line of FO troops, to take some of the heat off their comrades still holding position up front....or were holding position, until someone happens to look up and see THAT. They fall back just a liiiiittle more, fast as their legs will carry, but one unfortunate s.o.b gets pounded into the earth by the crate storm.

"..." Even Greystorm's wise ass has no words for what she sees. Ya know, you live long enough, and you STILL might see things that surprise you! The sound of the fight returns to her conscious thought and she pops off some rounds of her own before rushing up to duck behind the next ramshackle wall. "Let's finish'em off! Kalif!" she shouts an order to one of the few Res troopers still chattering on com to fellow officers. "Start rounding up those kids, get them back to the mines!"

Now, in the air, the Lady goes from angel of death to big damned target, and Adhar hasn't got time to feel the red wound opening in his heart for innocent casualties he doubtlessly has caused in the name of saving the rest. Instead he tries his best to dodge the rain of glittering green bolts that slash through the mist and rain over his ship; while Wiz squeaks and chitters in alarm, the electric flares of impact wash over the freighter's shields. It's only the defensive mindset of her Mon Calamari shipwrights that keep the Lady from being shot to pieces, as her shields are strong and her hull thick even under the assault of the deadly emerald rain. Blasts find her skin in several places, scoring the armor and causing minor damage, but the Lady and her pilot weave through the screaming fighters with but these scratches. Adhar's marksmanship is off the mark, however, and the Lady's turret spits a few red lances through the air far wide of the harriers even as the ship comes around for another pass over the town.

Stavros takes aim at the dark figure striding away, but loses sight as he heads away to his own shuttle. "So much for avenging Hex. Hey, Sar, are you in a transport?" He instead adjusts to another trooper with a child in tow. "We need to get as many of these people out of here as we can. Can you patch me into a Resistance frequency or something? This town is toast. You _know_ they're going to take it down, maybe from orbit." He pauses talking long enough to shoot the next stormtrooper. "At least the kids. You know? If we pack 'em in tight, I'll fill the hold with 'em, but this isn't a big ship."

Krackor's trek through the outskirts of the jungle comes to an end when he emerges from the trees in a section of the landing strip much closer to the space his ship currently occupies and, much more important, farther away from the warzone in the shanty zone. With his ship in sight, Krackor's pace increases as he moves along trying to keep out of sight.

"No transport. Just my interceptor," Sar responds to Stavros. "Get out here and corale who you can to the Arcadian Rhythm. Got a score to settle." The trooper is continuing to rush Sar, but the Old Man's got his sights set on more important matter. The Corellian gunslinger, uses the incoming soldier's momentum to trip him up and send him spilling onto the dirt street behind him.

With that taken care of, Sar readies the E-11 once more, trains it at the back of Kylo's head, whispers a Ryl curse word that Hex taught him, and pulls the trigger, sending an angry red bolt towards the Sith.

With their transports down and the TIEs on Adhar's tail being shot down after only landing a few superficial hits on the Mon Calamari ship, the First Order Stormtroopers are appearing all but routed. Many who still have possession of children resort to using them as shields or hostages, holding them between them and the Resistance soldiers. It is clear that the combatants in white are not going down without a fight, though they are most certainly going down. Numerous children go down, but a great deal of them manage to break away and free through the assistance of the Resistance and Civilian combatants. Only a few TIE's remain above, dodging X-wing fire and returning fire when they can.

The moment that Sar pulls the trigger, the dark figure whirls toward him, his black-gloved hand snapping out toward the other man, clawlike, his mask scowling fiercely. The bolt flying from the blaster comes to a shuddering halt in mid-air, flickering and phasing with confused, destructive energy. It hangs there, impotent, while the black glass visor stares silently at the ex-Resistance leader. Without a word, he turns and resumes his walk toward his shuttle, and it seems as though the shot will be trapped in the middle of this village for all of time. Until, as he's boarding the ramp, the tension in the atmosphere around it comes undone all at once, and the shot goes rocketing forward, striking a Resistance soldier trying to secure the perimeter around the First Order transports. The dark figure has already disappeared inside the shuttle, and its wings are unfolding as the repulsorlifts hum into life.

It ain't pretty, but the boys'n'girls get it done. The remaining children are wrest away from the dying fingers of their captors and ushered away by an entirely new set of strangers. "We need wings outta here, now!" L.C. coughs into her com before waving over all personnel for a quick pow-wow. "All right, here's the thing. Ain't gonna be long before someone 'up there' gets mightily pissed 'bout down here and decides to waste the town. Now I'm guessing that the majority of the villagers still alive went /that/ way," she thumbs back toward the mine, "And are probably waaaay under our feet by now. They stand a chance, maybe. I'll send one runner to give a shout down the hole and give'em their options. Evac space can't accomodate everyone - that's not what we came here to do. Kalif, you and me start loading these few onto the transport. Everyone else, I want you carving away at these g'damn crates and transport hull until we can send a man in to check for kids." The visor flips back to reveal a face made all the more craggy by an angry frown. "Let's hope our birds can spot the bigger firepower coming in enough time to GIVE us time."

Above, the Lady circles, firing away with her turret to ward off the few remaining TIEs - landing on the field, her boarding ramp is already half-open before she makes the ground. << SURVIVORS CAN GET ON BOARD HERE, >> calls Adhar through loudspeakers on the hull and through the comms net. << I SUDDENLY HAVE LOTS OF ROOM. >> Inside, however, Adhar shuts his eyes for a moment against the sight of the death beyond the landing field. Push it down, boy. Push it down until you're free and clear, just like anything else. Worry about the future when it's time.

Stavros says, "Razz, get me an open channel. No encryption; light up every comlink you can." He starts taking his sniper rifle apart, swiftly and efficiently. After a confirmation warble that he's broadcasting, the Zeltron begins to speak: "Hey, today was horrible. Those guys carry grudges and they really hate losing, so tomorrow might be a lot worse. There's two transports out here that can get you to safety at no charge. I'm not lifting off until I can't fit anyone else in." He cuts the transmission and starts to turn his mobile home into maybe a place that can fit a hundred people or so. Maybe more. We'll see. By the time Krackor makes it to his ship, the battle seems to be dying down, though it's not quite done. There are a few still putting up a fight. His main concern is the large shuttle, though. He can see it powering up and heaves a heavy sigh of relief knowing that if it was leaving, this should be wrapping up soon. "This day really went south..." he says to himself, leaning against the ship to catch his breath. Sweat drips off the end of his nose and he wipes the rest on his sleeve. "Past time to get out of here." He keys in the code that causes the entry ramp to lower in a hiss of escaping vapor and quickly dashes inside. Once in the cockpit, he starts prepping the ship for takeoff.

Bummer. Sar flew all this way and didn't even get to kill Kylo Ren. On top of that, the bounty he was chasing probably got smushed by a bunch of cargo. Properly ticked off, Sar takes a moment to kick the downed Stormtrooper enough times that the scream eventually stop. With a loud, modulated huff, the Corellian removes his helmet and clips it back onto his belt. Heading back to the landing pad, he calls over the open channel, "Blue, I'll stick around until you and the Lady are gears up and fly intercept for y'all. In case there's any TIEs waiting to make a point in atmo." Pulling a cigarillo from his pack, he eventually makes it back to the Switchblade and climbs up to sit on one of the mandibles of the small fighter. Lighting the smoke he takes a /long/ drag from it and leans back on his free hand, looking around.

"I need a drink."

The Transport carrying Kylo Ren launches upward from the ground, the remaining TIE's scrambling and running as a patrol for the transport ship, one sliding left and taking a particularly well aimed X-wing shot and exploding into a brilliant ball of flames. The remaining TIE and transport power to full and rocket off through the air, the X-wings allowing them to escape in favor of providing air security for their troops on the ground. The remaining Troopers are taken down easily enough and the remaining children freed.

The transmissions by Adhar and Stavros are heard and soon enough people begin emerging from the jungle treeline, desperate to take whatever help they can get from these few heroes who fought on their behalf. It takes longer, but Ambrosia's messenger reaches those hiding in the mines, and soon they too have emerged, looking to take advantage of what help they can, while others remain below, refusing to abandon their home despite the terrible loss they have sustained this day.