Log:The Monster is Loose

Through expert piloting, navigation, engineering, and good ol' fashioned gunplay (and manipulation), the ragtag crew of Misfortune's Favor has come out ahead of their treasure-hunting rivals. The remaining members of Plunder Blunder turned tail and started to head back towards Ol'Pickery, but with only two of their five crew left, the engine stalled. That is when something lurking below the waters intercepted; the boat and its passengers disappearing in a burst of green water and a grind of metal. And now that enormous, hulking shadow is moving on the Fortune fast.

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The Monster is Lose

OOC Date: May 13, 2023
Location: =Ko Hentota District, Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Maelstrom (GM), Colo Nell, Bors Thul, Amal Jha, Rieve Selki, Cadogan West, Kael Greystorm

{(X< The Grot, Undercity - Ko Hentota District, Nar Shaddaa >{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}

This well known spot in the Undercity is referred to as The Grot by locals. Legend has it that what started out as a puddle has become a rather sizable pond sustained by a constantstream from upper levels. Is it runoff, industrial waste, a mix of the two, or something even worse? It changes from day to day. This wastewater pond is surrounded by a shore of trash and grime that has been trampled flat over the years and a few ramshackle docks that provide questionable protection from the corrosive waters.

The Grot is perpetually murky and has an offensive smell that hangs in the air like a choking miasma. What draws people to this awful waterhole is the chance of valuables being recovered the muck and occasional unidentifiable corpse. This leads many to "fish" for treasure while adventurous souls dive in directly. Sometimes they even return... if the monstrosities that lurk below the pond's thick surface do not find them first.

{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-{(X)}-

--Maelstrom--

Ripples in the murky water turn to waves splitting the surface with a V-shape that speeds towards the Misfortune's Favor. A fast reaction by the crew has them speeding away just in time to narrowly be missed by a tentacle lifting from beneath and crashing down with a mighty THACK!

Green water splashes around violently and the beast beneath finally surfaces to get an eye on its elusive prey. Whatever this thing it, it does not have a name. So mutated by the filth and toxins in the Grot, it no longer resembles any known creature. What raises from the depths is a multi-eyed abomination with with the tendrils of a squid, four meaty tentacles, and a wide mouth filled with sharp, jagged teeth.

It makes a high-pitched screech that rings the ears and echoes in the cavernous underbelly of Nar Shaddaa before diving back under the surface and racing forward.

--Colo--

At first, the mere rumble of the creature is just enough to remind Colo that he forget to pack a lunch for this little jaunt. the growl-rumble of his stomach emanates out from his armor and results in a queasy look about the Corellian's gills, though the armor he wears fortunately keeps it from disturbing the others of the crew. Especially the navigator. "<<Right. A Grottian Big-Eye>>," He bleats through his vocoder, totally making a new classification up on the spot. "<<That should send us on our way!">>

Without even thinking, he keeps his eyes planted on the path ahead. The deft/daft man's hands splay either way--one towards the critter where he cracks off a quick blast that goes so wide he's sure he hit a passing droid, while the other gestures with his gauntlet ahead. "<<That means -that- way, Lord Haste!>>"

--Bors--

Helmed head canting to one side at the abbreviated tirade from Colo, the Alderaanian at the controls can do little more than try to suss out if he meant where he was shooting or where he was knife-handing.

<"What? But nary a clear route is found were yonder blaster was casting ire. We should go the other way, where treasure lays in wait!"> helmet vocoder amplified so that he can be heard. Slewing the ship around the proposed dangers, leaning to one side to try and get a look ahead before he aims to send the ship into a slalom of shallow turns.

To hopefully make the junk pile a harder target.

--Amal--

With so much to keep her attention, the fact that there was a beast behind them, seemed secondary in importance, considering the beast they were riding in which seemed determined to kill them all. Amal left, for the moment, the task of either fighting off, or warding off the much monster, to those to whom the task had been given. Instead, she focused on trying to reorganize the controls in the ship's computer system, and to rework any areas which had been damaged to, hopefully, secure a few more minutes (she did not expect hours out of the skiff of doom), long enough to give them time to get to their end goal.

--Rieve--

"I am so glad that we got that other party to back down, our diplomatic efforts..." Rieve murmurs as he swings his rifle to bear upon the great beast, taking his own sweet time to line up a shot with the rise and fall of the grot-skiff underfoot. With Bors' and Amal's efforts to keep the skiff skimming so gracefully, as gracefully as this heap of junk can manage at least, and Colo's powerful burst of Mandaltech energy, Rieve lines his shot. Aiming for an eye. Alas a mis-timed bounce on a wave or a ripple has Rieve's thunderous retort of a shot miss wildly. The echo of the slugthrower reverberating about the grot, while the brief whiff of acrid smoke greets everyone before being whisked away in their wake.

The explosion a few short moments later ensures a most gap-toothed smile from the Hapan ex-Lordling. "Oh that was something Cad... throw more!" And with Kael's crack shots that follow, oh Rieve is indeed taking it a challenge and thusly wraps the strap of his rifle a little tighter about his hand as he takes aim a second time.

--Cadogan--

Cadogan West's pale blue eyes widened out of their typical half-lidded look of youthful disinterest. "Oh, hell that's a tail. Faster. Faster, Gov, GO FASTER." Suddenly despairing of doing much to *that* with a pistol, the young outlaw grabbed a grenade, clicking it live and lobbing it into the water near a cluster of grotesque eyes. "Aye, that's the bloody plan-" he answers Rieve, grabbing a second grenade Ade off the bandolier.

--Kael--

Kael grabs onto well something to hold onto as he raises up his X-8 Sniper which is a terrible name for a pistol although as a trio of red bolts silently fly off at the monstrosity he looks around a bit, "You know... I don't think that likes us." He lets go long enough to pat his armor a bit checking for any other things that make stuff go boom that he might have on him.

--Maelstrom--

The creature brings its tentacles out, flailing them madly as it surfaces again to get a look at the target. A bad move, really, as a barrage of firepower and a frakin' grenade is lobbed in its direction, effectively blowing out one of its many eyes and sending another squeal of rage -- or is it pain? -- into the Undercity.

It breaks the surface more, cresting upward, outwards, in a mighty arch higher than should be possible for a creature of its size. Now the crew can get a good look at it, long tendrils and tentacles and slimey skin all attached to a ball with teeth.

It crashes into the water again, picks up speed and aims to ram the Misfortune's Favor with its entire mass. But the boat swiftly, swifter than it should be able, bobs and weaves to avoid the devasting blow that just moments ago took down their rivals.

--Colo--

The shots crackle away and at least one big-boom sounds off thanks to Cadogan's excellent pitching, but Colo's...a little less-enthused about the way the beast is still tailing them. <<"I think you just made it angry!">> He pelts out, voice crackling over the discharge of the blasts large and small. His own pistol seems to be having some trouble today, but his eyes work just fine. What he lacks in verve for the blasters, he makes up in swerve.

Most especially, he feeds Bors real-time reports on the critter's movements. <<"You're gonna want to gun it in a moment. It's comin' right for us. If ya give it the juice right as it gets near us, I think we can miss it entirely!">> And on that front, Colo remains at the ready, counting down the Grotter's proximity. <<"3...2...!">>

--Bors--

Tentacles flapping at them, horrible warbling burbling sounds added to the already unpleasantly gastronomic tonal quality of the Grot amid the wet-flap-slapping of the engines pushing the skiff along the interestingly still called water's surface. Because this stuff is viscous. This stuff is is not clear.

This stuff is probably mostly poopies. Thinly diluted, maybe. But still.

OH! And the Mandalorian is telling him to make them go faster. On a countdown. Space but why is everyone and everything so slow? Everyone moves so slowly. Everything is happening so slowly. The -boat- is the slowest hunk of metallic flotsam he's ever had to contend with...

Wait.

<"Wait.">

He can fix this.

<"I know what to do...">

Does he dare? Does he Dare? The little probe tool comes out of his belt, somewhere on Colo's 3 and Bors has done the unthinkable. The throttle is put down to the horrid, viciously ghastly, 'Ten' position.

2...

The probe goes in and he's leaning on the control yolk to keep it generally steady while his other hand gets in there to help. Wedge, push. Jam. GRUNT. Ugh this is peasant work.

NO! No Bors! This is IMPORTANT WORK. A small adjustment to the throttle control through the still open panel from earlier. Bors looks up, to Colo - has he said three? No, verbally he's still on the ellipsis. So Slow. Everything is -so- slow.

THe paint stylus returns to the picture. Quick sweeps. A nod to his work. This potential madness. This possible attempt to cast aside he shackles of known reality. Is he going to kill them all? It could. But once, a wise man wrote 'Have no fear, for real. It's just a turning wheel. Once you start up, there's. No. Other. Way.'

3. Finally. He said three. Lord Thul shoves the throttle forward again, the thin bar passing 11. Passing twelve. No easily divisible numbers. No. Those can fail. He mag-locks his boots again as the engine begins to dare protest his Lordship over the governance of what is -fast-.

<"Hold onto thine buttocks"> the ship continues to buck in a wild tangent of wheeling turns to make itself a trouble for tentacles. Trying to find a clear path for there has been a new, prime, selection for movement today.

The throttle bar sat, properly, at 13.

--Amal--

The sound of shots fired, of grenades detonating all played like some sort of odd, and yet completely Nar Shaddaanian (was that a word?) musical theme, as Amal kept down, rocking this way and that as the ship maneuvered, trying to keep ahead of and out of the tentacles of the monster behind them. "Any idea how long before we reach our target?" That might give some idea of how long the old skiff of bad dreams needed to keep floating.

--Rieve--

Another miss! The rifle is bobbing and a weaving and despite his rather spectacular headshot of a pilot but a short time ago, there's something to be said for the overwhelming size of the thing chasing them. Aim big and miss bigger? Or whatever the saying was. A breath is taken as he looks to the rifle and unbinds the strap from his hand, the very rifle artfully slung as he reaches for his pistol slung against his other shoulder. A bulky and ugly looking pistol that is so ugly it has a certain boxy charm about it.

The pistol is given a pat and the stock is sunk against his shoulder as he takes aim once more. No smoke now, no acrid stench of powder, just raw Sorosuub powercells whining gently as they transfer power to the weapon. "atyfoo ghevaethie uj sigh sot eapeadaefa sigh agyrh! othag! tearh liem wefufea ynis ghevaethie... apywootierh hageav... hageav iepalos adorh! tearh ghitiety wear atyfoo iwisier apywootierh?! tearh duthaghizi iekoove othag ghevaethie yhasu hageav! atyfoo eapeadaefa tupaetave atyfoo adorh?! ivu as agyrh! fadewaetoo!" And with a truly serious tirade of Hapan just erupting from Rieve's mouth, the words spilling quick and fast in a furious manner! Even with a hand gesture or two thrown in for good measure! Oh the Hapan is truly angry.

Translation. Another miss! The rifle is bobbing and a weaving and despite his rather spectacular headshot of a pilot but a short time ago, there's something to be said for the overwhelming size of the thing chasing them. Aim big and miss bigger? Or whatever the saying was. A breath is taken as he looks to the rifle and unbinds the strap from his hand, the very rifle artfully slung as he reaches for his pistol slung against his other shoulder. A bulky and ugly looking pistol that is so ugly it has a certain boxy charm about it.

The pistol is given a pat and the stock is sunk against his shoulder as he takes aim once more. No smoke now, no acrid stench of powder, just raw Sorosuub powercells whining gently as they transfer power to the weapon. "What the actual rekking drekk is this monster! Truly! I cannot even begin to... oh it... it angers me! I am furious with myself oui?! I should be able to shoot it! What is wrong with me?! Come on now! Just!" And with a truly serious tirade of Hapan just erupting from Rieve's mouth, the words spilling quick and fast in a furious manner! Even with a hand gesture or two thrown in for good measure! Oh the Hapan is truly angry.

--Cadogan--

Cadogan West grabs onto the boat frame with his free hand as the monstrous creature crashes its bulk back into the water sending a wave of filth off their stern. Only then arming the next grenade, he tries his luck again, lofting the blinking charge at a grouping of mutated ocular organs. The grenade explodes close to the monstrosity, but the Tionese grenadier can't tell if that one did anything. Then their pilot shoots to hold on, and Cado holds on. "You said it, Fancypants," he mutters aside to Rieve, blissfully ignorant of anything the Hapan said.

--Kael--

Kael adjusts to shoot at the tentacles as the others start to shoot at the eyes sighting in with the X-8 he squeezes off another three shots one going wide but the other two impacting solidly causing the thing to wiggle but not function like it used to before, "Huh... That's an interesting one."

--Maelstrom--

With a blast, another frag grenade goes off; this time missing the elusive creature and breaking off a piece of rusted starfighter that somehow ended up down here who knows how long ago. Above, the stalactites shudder and groan, pieces of dirt, rock, and debris shaking loose to plop into the thick water below but otherwise remaining whole against the resonance.

Four tentacles rise several feet up in the air, wiggling like mad and then stretching outwards, falling as a fierce velocity. Gravity is its friend, specially down here where they are that much closer to the moon's core. Before they can hit, one of them takes heavy blaster fire, sustaining massive damage and causing it to recoil.

The other three continue their deadly trajectory; two of them splashing in the water and soaking the crew and one landing a SOLID hit on Misfortune's Favor, causing the metal paneling to groan, creak, and bend inwards. Sparks of severel conflicting systems fly out from all directions.

--Colo--

The ship actually -slows down- and that's enough to get Colo sputtering in exasperation through the next moments. "<<You blue-blooded, nonsense-speaking IMBE--!>>" Colo wheedles out, voice cut off by the sudden thudding of three, distinct sources of gut-tightening. The first, of course, is the wild thrash and pop of a grenade being lobbed and popping a touch too close to his noggin for comfort. The second sets his vocoder crackling off as he simply -yelps- into the mic instead, the jostle wholly the Grottian's fault as a tentacle smacks hard into his only source of preservation.

The nonsense spouting from Bors' is enough to have him fuming further, at least until the vessel surges ahead at a speed that'd make an A-Wing give a wing-tilt of respect. The further ahead the MFer (that's Misfortune's Favor, of course) surges, the farther back Colo is sent scuttling until only digging in his heels and flailing his blaster-arm manages to secure him a solid locale again. Nonetheless, through it all, he keeps his eyes and scanner peeled for the creature's next lunge. Ears, meanwhile, catch something else entirely. "<<Cor'tur! Mon Tarix! You must speak Basic if the rest of the crew is to hear your wisdom!>>" Colo studiously decides against translation efforts for the moment.

--Bors--

There's a moment when he could have sworn the Mandalorian was getting ready to shout praises for his skill. It's to be expected. While Bors held no particular disregard for those who hadn't the benefit of being born among the Great Houses... and he -did- acknowledge that there were pedigree of lesser extent on other systems.

He felt that the lowborn peasantry should still be above heaping needless praise upon their betters. But it's appreciated, all the same.

The ship being attacked despite the capabilities he has managed to squeeze out of this heap, it still threatens...

<"Friend Mandalorian, no need to express thine gratitude. While yet thee hath not been put to supper where thou doth not eat, but is eaten, we are yet in... Oooo. What's this?"> there's give in the throttle.

The paint stylus returns. A teeny tiny adjustment. A push.

The ship goes faster yet.

13.5

--Amal--

The skiff shuddered, the whine of metal straining under the force of the blows from the muck monster's tentacles almost like a the cry of a wounded animal. That did not stop Amal though, who hunkered down, lest she be tossed out of the skill entirely, hands moving with sure speed as she rerouted power cables, and unplugged a coupling, moving it over to a more reliable...we'll go with reliable and not rusted, circuit board.

--Rieve--

"Wisdom!? Bah!" Rieve actually laughs and warmly so as he steadies his footing after that slam of limbs against their skiff. "I was merely venting my anger at my own ineptitude!" That said, the blue-haired Hapan finally weighs the pistol within his grasp and eyes the surroundings for the brief moment it takes to ensure the pistol is good to go.

"Cadogan, mes ami... see that little stretch of debris? Bounce the next one off of that and the great beast should swim directly into the explosion oui? On the count of three!" And that gentle count begins as Rieve finally levels his pistol, and exhales a warm breath. "One." A beat. "Two." A pause. "Three!" Hapan fingers gracefully direct the arc of the next throw, a fluid motion of noble gentility and hopefully some very loud explosion to follow. An explosion that is indeed admired a few seconds later. "Good show mon brat!"

Of course there's another pause, and a helmeted glances Colo-wards. "Oui dear cor'tur?" One can almost hear the bright grin beneath that helm. "You are erenedi! Without equal! Just take a sweet breath of that Grot air and steady your hand, gently, gently... squeeze the trigger while our glorious pilot and engineer keep us skimming this water!"

--Cadogan--

Cadogan West is jostled to one side by the impact of a gigantic tentacle slamming into their junk boat, leaving the young outlaw to haul himself back upright with a bullish snort out through flared nostrils. He arms the third grenade with a click of the thumb switch and a glare at the big beast. Eyes narrowing as he focuses on Rieve's suggested target, Cado mutters back, "Aye, can't miss and blast the world apart if we aim for it on purpose. Brilliant." Still, he waits, listens, and throws for the intended mark. A shout of triumph when it actually works. "HA. Hell yeah, Bonjeu!" He claps a hand hard on the Hapan's shoulder twice, before getting another grenade. "Two left!"

--Kael-- Kael's X-8 aims in on another tentacle three shots zoom off from the pistol silently flying past the monster and impacting the water and Kael sighs, "That's a miss on my end. Hopefully you all are doin better." He shifts the pistol to look at the ammo count, "Gonna have to reload shortly hopefully we get to where we're needin to go soon."

--Maelstrom--

The waves of water it generates in its pursuit washed up against chunks of old building and bend girders that stick out of the Grot like twisted spires. As the Misfortune weaves through the hazards with Colo's expert navigation and Bors' incredibly piloting, Amal somehow manages to keep it all running with the mish-mash of wires and systems she has been tasked to fight with.

Meanwhile, the three gunmen have turned into the Gunman, the Bomber, and the Guidance System. It is another barrage, this time more focused and direct. The blaster bolts force the creature to keep moving rather than building up all of its speed for another attempt at ramming while the frag grenade hits several of its disgusting eyes at once. One pops like a rotten fruit. Four more blink out of sychronation with second, third, fourth eyelids.

So the prey keeps dodging and gaining speed and it's losing eyes fast. Yeah. Yeah, it's a little angry. Unable to catch up yet, it darts to the right and brings all four tentacles around in a sideways swipe, again splashing putrid water everywhere. It misses, but omething slimey and still quite alive lands with a sickening flop on Rieve's back and shoulders. Two suction-cup arms immediately start curling around blindly.

--Colo--

The sputtering continues, and not solely because Colo's managed to wing another house rather than the target of his choice. "<<-None- of that was a compliment you foppish wa--augh!>>" Crackles the vocoder again, more Corellian-style frustration belted out as the vessel hits a new, heretofore unmarked level of speed. Mercy comes in the guise of a spirited Hapan trying to talk him up. In the brief moments before the tentacles come flailing towards them only to explode in a mist of Cadogan-hucked hand-held 'splodes, Colo...begins to holster his blaster.

With the weapon stowed, Colo focuses one hand on gripping the MFer's sturdy hull while the other continues its directives into the water. "<<Right, enough of that. Mon Tarix! Steady on! Bors! 2 degrees, 30 minutes right! Chop ahead!>>" He warns, doing his level best to continue guiding them through the tangle of waves created by the creature's angry, pained flailing.

--Bors--

<"The fault in thine wording is not that of the heart or mind, tender Mandalorian! It's the net of learning that is Corellia's!"> leaning into the jolts and thumps, still glad for the maglock systems keeping him attached to the ship and firmly in place. Looking briefly over his shoulder and seeing the ocularly reduced beast flailing behind them.

"My, like it was constructed of bad tidings and water closet graffiti..." an 'erk' face firmly in place before Bors is looking back, hearing the directions being given. Ready to make note that minutes longitude or latitude are only functional when you're geographically uniform, or know the count for the planet.

Which e doesn't.

Coronet education system Bors. It's not his fault.

<"You're... Well... Come..."> there, make it easy for them, old man.

The ship jostles and jives when the rough waters come, but does Bors steer around like some ninny X-wing pilot? Does he brake and brace like some coward B-Wing pilot?

NAY! Never.

Like the Noble Y-Wing Pilot, A-Wing Pilots were made of sterner stuff. Braver stuff. An inherent nobility that could not be diminished. Could not be cloaked over. No.

Bors does what only he of his particular stripe -can- do. He tells physics who the bitch is here... And he guns it.

--Amal--

The echani trader continued working at the ship's systems, keeping the thing running despite the strain it was being put under by both pilot and would be passengers. A glance over to check one of the systems came at an inopportune time, for her, as something splashed out of the water, splattering her face with muck, and latching itself onto Rieve. Amal moved out of reflex, one of the blades of her weapon in her off-hand, that is the hand not actively working the computer systems flipping around from where it had been stowed, so to speak against her forearm and reaching out to stab whatever it was trying to leave marks on the Hapan (that was just bad for business), and sizzling into its body before she tugged it free and flicked it back into the water. "No room for extra passengers." And then the knife flipped back away and she returned to work.

--Rieve--

Rieve fires off two shots from his JSP, each one missing or just dissapating against the creature's hide with nary a scorch, and even as he feels that weird weight upon his back, he's reaching for his vibrodagger to try and stab at whatever is wrapping about him from behind. Could it be a consoling hug from Colo after his harsh words ala Rieve? Feels oddly fleshy. A little too wriggly. Suckery even.

Moist. So... moist.

"What is that on my back?" Rieve asks as he mutters a softly spoken curse under his breath while flailing a little too swiftly at the beast with his buzzing dagger. A miss! But Rieve rights himself nimbly, if perhaps a touch stiffly as he feels the thing embracing him, forcing him to exhale a breath of sheer frustration as he shudders.

Yet that free-loading tentacle beast is soon dealt with by Amal, and Rieve turns to offer a bright gap-toothed grin as the poor thing sploshes in their wake. "My thanks Madelle!"

--Cadogan--

"Thirty minutes- we're gonna be lake chow in thirty minutes," Cadogan growls in a massive misunderstanding of navigational terminology. He sucks instinctively as one of the tentacles flails close enough to stink up the boat in passing, then arms the grenade and hurls it toward a grouping of damaged eyes with a wordless shout, and a bold (if inadvisable) taunt to the beast of, "REKK OFF, YE REEKIMG ROTTER," complete with a rude gesture of his left hand. He looks back to Rieve flailing around, already having dislodged the critter. "S'just your back, yeah?"

--Kael--

Kael snaps off his last three shots on his X-8 two of them solidly hitting a tentacle however that causes the beast to recoil and his last shot going far wide... "Wait how long left?" Totally wasn't paying attention instead shooting at the thing to try and create some space... "blaster's empty gotta reload."

--Maelstrom--

Pop pop pop! Three more eyes sink into the squishy cranium of this beast as frag shards rip into it and the monster starts to slow. Its movements become more sporadic, running into things and thrashing at rock formations. Another tentacles gets shot right through, making two injured with burning, gaping wounds that would get infected if this thing wasn't already an infection of genetics.

Desperation kicks in as if the creature knows that its time is running out. Either because it is running out of steam or because the crew's goal is actually right there in front of them! Oh gods! Cresting then diving under again, the V-shaped ripple in the water speeds forward again, wanting nothing more than to ram this rickety raft and send the occupants spilling into the drink where they will be easy pickin's.

Alas, another cut from the boat at juuuust the last second causes it to miss, though the waves from the massive attack sends the Misfortune on choppy waters.

--Colo--

It's grotesque and best not commented on. Colo's glad he has his helmet on, visor down, every seal of his armor cinched and tightened else the next splash of unknown-quality-'water' that gushes across him might set him to retching. It might yet accomplish just that when he spies some -thing- schlorping its way to Rieve, whereupon he goes for his blaster. Amal beats him to the trigger and he counts his blessings, preferring no further comment on what manner of danger they might run into next. Rather? He focuses on trying to speak in a language that the madcap pilot understands.

"<<No reason to take risks, now! We're almost there! Maybe consider 12 again!>>" He carps, with articulate, Coronet-style gestures of two fingers at the throttle's idiosyncratic markings.

--Bors--

<"NEVER!">

Slow back down.

Slow. Back. Down.

The nerve. The cheek. THE GALL.

No taking risks, why the very idea of it is... It's unconscionable! It's beneath him! IT IS AGAINST THE FIBER OF ALL HE STANDS FOR. It's so slow.

If only they could see the face of the man behind the helmet, at the controls of the skiff that he is, ostensibly, trying to shake apart by the way he is driving it; they'd likely comment that he is -much- older than they might have thought he was. OR... that he was as old as they expected a man to be, that is behaving in the manner that he is. There's no middle ground. Really.

<"I -shan't-">

Looking for any settings he can, Bors notes controls for some of the repulsor settings. I mean, they don't -have- to be super above the 'water'... Adjusting feeds, putting repulsor power to three quarters... and dumps the fresh auxiliary power right into thrust.

<"SLOW IS FOR THE WEAK! RISKS ARE FOR THOSE WHO CAN SURPASS!">

Pilot on, you brash, brave, beautiful Alderaanian.

--Amal--

With no more potential freeloaders attempting to use the skiff as their get out of the Grot free card, Amal could focus her attention on holding the ship together for this, it's final stretch, though, considering how far they were into the Grot, hopefully not its final voyage. That was the key, really, even above and beyond whatever they might find. A world full of treasure was nothing, if you were buried down here with it...and the monsters.

--Rieve--

Two more shots are useless against the bulk of the beast, with one veering wildly into the grot after a particularly violent shudder and roll of the skiff. Of course, with this he sinks to his knees to steady himself and jabs violently into the murky waters and manages to hack at a tentacle in such a way as the vibrodagger carves through the flesh, that a chunk of twitching meat lands with a plop into the bottom of the skiff. Pausing to eye the 'meat', Rieve looks to those about him. "Might be worth a few creds to some researcher of marine life... I can't imagine anyone has seen a beast of this magnitude in a long time eh?" The chunk is given a nudge with his left foot as he sets to taking aim once more. Curse this rolling vessel! It does nothing for his natural grace and finesse in which he is abundantly blessed on land!

--Cadogan--

"Last one, afore I gotta get another belt-" Cadogan appraises his comrades aloud as the fifth grenade is pulled free of the bandolier and armed. He arms the handheld bomb, and aims it for the root of a pair of tentacles. The beast moves, Cado's aim is off, and the grenade lands nowhere near where he intended. Yet the virtue of bombs is that 'close enough' is more than good enough, a d by a stroke of dumb luck, the beast moves and brings four fresh eyes up to bear at precisely the wrong moment, taking a devestating fragmentation blast. "....meant to do it!" the Tionese outlaw lies.

--Kael--

Kael starts to reach for a reload and changes his mind instead he just holsters the X-8 before he swaps to his Sentinel IV pistol and fires off a single small vehicle at the nearest tentacle the massive blaster pistol bolt slamming into the tentacle shooting it right off.

--Maelstrom--

Misfortune's Favor is tearing through the open waters which are quickly becoming not so open. Islands of garbage and refuse start to cluster in closer and closer as they approach the shore where the initial blast that brought them all down here occurred. With this encroaching... let's call it land... and the sheer amount of punishment it has been taking, the monstrosity grows not only desperate, but stupid.

It literally leaps fully out of the water, throwing itself completely towads the Misfortune with its entire, repulsive body. Tentacles, trendtils, and ball-like head with nasty, big, pointy teeth.

SPLOOOOOOOSH!

Its massive weight hits the surface of the water like a double-decker transport bus, missing the Misfortune and sending it hurtling towards the shores of their destination. The tidal wave picks up the rickety boat and all but throws it forward, landing with a griiiiiiiind of the metal underbelly against garbage as it skids to a stop on something relatively solid.

With one more flail of two remaining tentacles, the creature groans and sinks under the water, likely fleeing to regenerate. If that's something it can do.

The crew have made it to the location. Now... to get their land legs and find that cache.