Log:Swamp Thing
The Rebels investigate an old resistance signal
OOC Date: March 24, 2025
Location: Rori
Participants: Wil Larolia, Ben Solo, Cin'cirad Rook, Jaq'n Greayf and Hadrix Kora as GM
Naboo's moon of Rori had a tumultuous past, battles had been waged over it, on it, and numerous calamities had befallen, sprinkled over the relative calm the world normally enjoyed. When the First Order had stopped the Resistance's actions on several occasions it had left the world with a number of sights of wreckage.
Some easily found. Others 'buried' in the wilds of Rori.
The signal being followed was over fifteen years old, judging by the code, and were it not for members of the resistance now serving with the Rebellion - it may have gone unnoticed, if ever. Now a small group, organized by special operations and headed by Commander Kora was slogging through the muck and mud of Rori's swamps.
Following a weak signal, that might not be anything at all, wasn't the best of jobs; but Rebel command was curious. Which is why people were out here in the muck to begin with.
Wil is a captain of a capital ship. He's not a field operative. He belongs on a bridge, sitting in a chair, and winning naval battles. Why is he even here, many would ask. It's not his area of expertise, no one would blame him for not wanting to slog through a swamp when he could be on the bridge with perfect hair, plotting the next engagement.
It's because it's a Resistance signal.
Wil grew up in the Resistance. His homeworld, Hosnian Prime, was annihilated by Starkiller base. Those were his people. His parents were part of it, and he grew up with so many aunts and uncles and non-gendered adult extended family members. When they decided he was old enough, he was a runner and a gofer in the hangars. Even now, the Resistance beats in his heart.
"Stars, this place is disgusting," he says, his voice modulated by the helmet, the whirr of servos audible through the squelching. "I just got this armor, too."
There are some nice things about Mandalorian armor. One of them, which is hard to argue with, is that some of them have sealed EVA suits. That combined with filters means that - down in a swamp - you don't have to smell the swamp. Even as the stuff clings all the way up your knees in a color that could not be described in polite company, with a consistency that's somwhere between muck and oil slick.
Sira pulls her foot out of the mud onto a bit of drier ground for the momen with a 'SHhLorp' of noise left behind as the gunk implodes in on itself back into an air pocket with a bubble of air popping not long after to release another bouquet of smells. <"Try breathing through your mouth."> Sira says to Wil without missing a beat. Her hand pulling up the datapad to look at the information.
Another couple taps on it as she looks over her shoulder, <"You got anything?"> She's asking the droid on her back, the disk-like droid popping up a little bit and swiveling about. The color of the droid is copper on the green of her armor.
Curious indeed. That far back is at once a different lifetime for a certain Ronin, and near enough still to cast a long shadow. Once, Ben commanded the forces that killed Rebels on this moon. Once, any response from him to this signal would have held a very different tone.
Now? Solo turns up, along with a younger member of the Order, to investigate the call as an ally; or at least to bear witness to the last sacrifice of whoever left the beacon here, once upon a time. Or, to spring the trap. It always could be a trap. Quiet, pensive, and focused, Solo anchors the group's traversal at the rear, clearly deferring to Hadrix's command; another tectonic shift of lifetimes, really. Or at least he WOULD be at the party's rear, if R2-D2 didn't have a defiant habit of tagging along with the sneaky surreptitious acumen of an astromech with an attitude.
Solo's steps, bereft of sealed or powered armor, are chosen with care and dexterity, black leather bootfalls finding secure purchase with the practice of one who's spent no shortage of time in such hostile surrounds, his face covered by a half-wrap of grey cloth.
Jaq'n Greayf follows not far behind Solo, not entirely sure why he tagged along, but content enough to be out and moving. The swamp air clings damp and heavy, the ground uneven beneath his boots. He keeps his steps careful, eyes flicking down now and then to avoid anything soft or sinking. Every so often, his gaze lifts to track Solo's path ahead, one part watchful, one part wondering just what they might be walking into. For now, he seems content to keep those thoughts to himself.
<"There's worse places..."> Hadrix was up a tree, moving along a branch above and out of the water, using his hands in places for balance and moving quadruped as he brachiates above the group as a whole. His HUD, thanks to Gripper, to the others. Either by their own heads up displays or through hand held equipment. <"Be mindful, there's creatures in the muck as well.">
Minerals in the area were playing havoc with sensor systems, intermittently at least, which may well be the reason for the long time that this signal has gone unheard.
But with three good sources of detection the signal is out there, and far. The mud and muck clinging and portions of floating bizzle-weed revealing portions of deep water that could be trouble. Light is dim, despite it being still day, feeling more like early evening with a green haze permeating.
The big man keeps moving, scouting and checking the equipment reports being relayed amongst the group - coming to a halt on a thick branch close the bole of the tree. <"Going to be fun working through the stew here...">
"I think I need to change the filters in this helmet already," Wil says, sounding disgusted even through the vocoder. His armor -does- look pretty new. No battle scars on it, still pretty shiny. "I'm gonna need hosed down before we leave."
At least the temperature isn't bugging him, sealed as it is.
He's quite thankful for the information being fed back to him through Hadrix's HUD and Gripper. Good Clanker. He follows through the slog, boots SCHLORPing in the muck, coming to a stop near where Hadrix has stopped above. "Well, depending on how far it goes, some of us can fly, yeah?"
Something everyone would notice is that Wil has not even LOOKED at Ben. He hasn't acknowledged his presence, or even glanced his way. There might be some baggage there.
Another grab of a branch and she hauls herself out of another glorp of muck that leaves a bubble behind and a dark brown sheen across the half of her armor. She plans on walking into the cargo bay and literally being hosed down inside of her armor when she gets out of here. Hosed down, soaped up... maybe she'll just walk through one of those speeder wash facilities. That could work.
<"It's been fun."> Sira says with a sigh, her droid finally deciding to stop just getting a free ride and a little bit of watching now and again. It sort of 'springs' free of her back and skitters up onto her shoulder before perching on top of a helmet. Sira turns her head to look in the direction of Wil, <"Both ships and gotta jetpack. So yes, I think we definitely do have the flying part down.">
"I dare say! MADAM!" The little copper-limb tabs on her helmet before tappy-tappy-tappy about to make sure to stay facing relatively the same position on top of Sira's head, while looking a bit like a hat.
"I believe there are Imperials in the trees! Feathered scum! Let me at them!"
Sira reaches up and pushes down to make the legs compress, then drags the whole thing down down along her back where it locks into place. <"I would wager those are birds, not Imperials, nor Imperial birds.">
"We'll want to go over and around it if we can." Ben agrees, hopping lithely into the boughs on an adjacent flank to Hadrix. "How are you all at climbi.." Artoo is the first to answer, without hesitation. He can /fly/. Fans are divided. "... If you /don't/ have repulsor lifts or jetpacks." Just interrupt him mid-sentence, why don't you?
"The ground routes offer our pick of muck or deeper water, bad choice either way. Active predators in this specific patch of muck as well... relatively recent kill that's been mostly picked clean over there." This skeletal remain is pointed out with a black gloved fingertip. Despite his lack of advanced sensor apparatus, the Ronin does alright.
Jaq'n Greayf pauses midstep and takes a quick look around, moving close enough to Ben to speak quietly, "There's something following us," he nods his head toward some nearby brush, "There, keeping pace."
"At least it's not Dxun... The trees try to eat you there..."
Is he joking? Hadrix's tone hasn't changed so he could be serious. Or he could be joking.
Sounds from the swamplands continue to swell and fade like tides, cracking sounds that could be wood or could be bone lacking echo, coming muffled and hard to identify the direction of precisely. But there's things out there, potentially interested. But passage is simple enough as some take to the air and others move through the trees.
All going quite well, the signal growing stronger. A potentially trouble free 'run', until a branch under Jaq'n creaks and snaps before he can get to the next, causing the Jedi Padawan to go tumbling into the mud. On his back by chance but sinking halfway in and finding it considerably less easy to move with the guck trying to wrap him up in the rotted muss.
A 'bworlp' sound comes nearby, as something else enters the gunk, but is lost in the canopy shadows.
"I think I'll sink through there in this, so it's time to try this out." For the first time. He doesn't -say- that, because it would not instill confidence. Thrusters fire, spluttering in the mud and gunk. Still, he ascends out of the goo, hovering just above the swamp. "So far, so good."
He makes ready to skim across the soupy poodoo, but a splash catches his attention. He's not surprised somebody fell. Honestly, his bet was on Hadrix, acting like some kind of monkey-lizard in those trees in all that armor.
Instead, it's the Padawan, so Wil takes pity on the kid and goes back, sinking down, and firing his thrusters hard to pull him out and fly him across the way. He SEES something. "Kriff! That thing almost ATE you!"
Which is why he's now flying away with Jaq QUICKLY.
Sira is taking a bit of a middling and easy going approach, she had pulled herself up onto that bit of land again near a tree - leaving behind the suck of the mud for the moment. <"Not just Dxun. I think I once heard of a word, predominantly swamp, that is alive. Whole planet tries to eat you."> She activates her jetpack as everyone makes their own choice on how to get across.
As she takes off, the little copper droid pops up again. It tappy-tap, tappy-tap's its way along her back so that it is always standing directly 'on top' as it starts tapping at her shoulder when she banks one time. "MADAM! Imperials sighted! Those foul feathers will not get away from us this time!"
<"They are not Imperials. Settle down. Stars, do you know how long the Imperials have been gone?"> She reaches back and presses down on the droid to lock the copper guy back in place on her back. Sira was just about to angle down to help Wil, when she saw him -yank- the Padawan out of the slogging muck and into the air again. Instead, her head tilting up.
Flying higher up into the trees. <<"It looks like if you go up higher, you might have an easier time. Just watch for the critters.">>
"'Wants to eat you' is the unifying feature of all life on Dxun, isn't it?"
The Ronin nearly loses his own grasp on the deceptive mass of vines, loose and sturdy, criss-crossing the canopy above him-- but his connection with the Force saves him mid-fall, a calm and reflexive grab of his opposite hand snagging a secure tendril and swinging back onto a stable course. Here Solo dangles long enough to see Wil snag Jaq'n from his muckborne tumble.
With a spooked but understated oooOOOoooOOOOOOOOOooo Artoo goes arcing across the expanse, floating hither and yon around dangling branchlings and vines towards the Resistance signal-- which may fascinate the Astromech more than anyone else in the party.
The multitude of lifesigns all around them take focus to pinpoint-- it's easy to see potential threats everywhere, but what they're actually surrounded by is simply nature. Swampy, carnivorous nature. Flipping up a layer of vines, the Ronin follows Sira's guidance-- and R2's flight-- across the mucky traverse.
Jaq'n Greayf ; had been moving just behind Ben, careful with each step across the slick branches as the swamp murmured and cracked around them. The next branch gave out beneath him with a sharp snap, and he hit the mud hard, half-submerged before he could react. The cold muck clung to him, thick and pulling, but something else caught his attention, movement in the trees. His eyes locked onto it, something shifting through the canopy to the northeast.
Before he could speak, Wil's thrusters flared and strong hands hauled him free of the muck. Twisting just enough to glance back, Asinis caught another glimpse through the leaves. "Something's coming," he said, voice low but steady. "Northeast. Up in the trees."
The droids wailing seems to be poorly timed judging by the additional cracking sounds coming from the swamp soaked forest, silence sweeping the area before a series of gasping growling sounding calls coming from the canopy before more crackling sounds come and then leaf litter is tumbling down through the branches. <"That's fairly accurate..."> Hadrix answers Ben, while looking up at the canopy - expression hidden behind his helmet, <"It's why I live there for part of the year.">
Artoo's sensors holding a strong fix on the beacon that is leading east, deeper into the swamplands where the trees and mud continue to thicken. Darkness swallowing from the mass of foliage and the canopy above.
That same canopy that vomits up a group of six limbed, blue-green skinned, creatures with long ears and 'beard' like fur growth on their jaws. Their lowest, and shortest, limbs, if one can't call them legs, ending in spike like single claws rather than feet. The middle thinner built arms with narrow fingers and their top limbs thick, muscular arms ending in clawed four fingered hands.
Six of them. And swinging through the branches, 'horking' while they move on the hunt with mouths full of sharp carnassial teeth bared. Not quite seeing their prey yet, but searching.
Once he deems it safe, Wil sets Jaq down, but continues to hover for a moment more. He looks around then, hand on his blaster, looking for the source of the sound.
He doesn't see it, because his rocket boots sputter and drop him in the muck. He lands on his feet, but mud splatters up across his faceplate. "Augh! Kriffing...," he swears, taking the time to clean it off.
This means he misses the fun.
There is the bit of the turn, looking over her shoulder as she had heard the sort of strange noises. She had already been holding the Repeater, though mostly to keep it from swinging about as she flew along through the trees. Her head turning to look over her other shoulder and using the augmented reality of the inside to it in an assist to see a bit further than she should otherwise.
<"Never a dull moment."> Sira sigh as droid reaches out to tap-tap but thinks better of it as the Mandalorian woman rolls over onto her back. Pulling up so she's more hovering for the moment as the repeater tucks into the pocket of her shoulder, <"Are those Gundarks? No they can't be."> Tilting her head to sight it, she lines up on the first one. The four shots stitching it center mass in a rather lethal display.
With a swivel she turns it toward another one of them, <"Or what are those things?"> She stitches another line of ACP Particle Slugs into the arm of that one, the arm shooting open in pain as it starts to fall out of the tree and toward the muck below.
Tappy-tap-tap, Sira has a hat. "Imperial scum! I'll rip them limb from limb! Let me at them, Madam!"
<"They're not Imperials.">
Ben was -about- to say something about slipping past quickly, hoping their numbers and speed deter the Gundarks-- but even as he opens his mouth, the blaster fire begins. It's fair enough really, these things are just as likely to rip the arms off -them- as anyone is to be strong enough to rip the arms off a gundark.
Swinging from one vine to another, Solo twists and senses, more than strictly sees in the darkness, the formidable carnivores. Reaching out a hand, he connects with one, and another-- hungry. Volatile. And with the report of blasters sending several of them careening groundward-- real, real angry.
A sharp jerk of the Ronin's hand brings to mind a disapproving ruler in a far future gladiatorial arena, the proverbial thumbs down ripping two gundarks in tandem at a carefully plotted trajectory towards the-- presumably-- different species of predator tracking their progress far below. Perhaps the meal will put off the pursuit. Perhaps the other gundarks will relish a different challenge.
"They certainly seem to be." Solo confirms to Cin'cirad's confusion. "Not exactly a desert biome, but some of these creatures were spread far and wide long enough ago to diverge effectively-- and they're certainly tough enough." From his treeborne perch, Ben swings to rejoin Jaq'n, Wil, and Artoo closer to their objective.
Jaq'n Greayf draws his blaster just before he is dropped and takes aim, firing a shot at one of the Gundarks. He nods to Ben as he comes closer, looking around cautiously in case more show.
When it all starts to happen, it happens fast. The shots fired capped off by Al'Verde Kora's revolver coming out in a snap of motion culminating in his fanning the hammer to put two of three rounds into the body of the last Gundark remaining overhead, kicking it out of its branch and spinning down towards the muck with the ones tossed down by Solo and sent falling by injury by the others. The big man's head turning to glare at the droid that keeps shouting.
"There's usually more than that. Best keep moving, 'lek?"
The group apparently deciding in unison to keep moving with some note of urgency - heading into the the dark and tangled woodlands to leave the gundarks, and hopefully any of their other packmates behind. Flying to find a twisting wending path through the trees that becomes an abrupt cleft in the vegetation, as if something had moved through, smashing over trunks and branches not strong enough to halt it.
Leading towards a stinking pool in the middle of an impact zone, what looks like a wing-tip jutting out of the guck, with a cannon draped in vines and moss.
Wil takes the time other people are shooting and space magic-ing to clean off his faceplate. It's not easy to do out here. He's going to need to have his First Officer detail this armor when he gets back to the Adept Hammer.
He fires his rocket boots again to try and clear more gunk, but a turbine clogs. He swears, blink-commanding the HUD to compensate with the palm maneuvering thrusters. For a split second, it seems like it's not going to work, but then it does.
Or so he thinks.
It's still shaky, but he manages to fly and land with one clogged thruster, not knowing that he was helped along by the man he hates the most in the Galaxy.
Sira feels the bit of a grab by Hadrix as he helps yank her free from some of those vines as they try to tangle her up. The snapping of the greenery as she broke free and was thrown/thrust into the cleft. She pulls up with a little rotation, hovering as she looks around and spots what looks like a wing poking up from the gunk. A cannon, vines and moss. <"Hrm, what are you?">
Descending down she lands on the side of it, letting go of the repeater slugthrower to pull out a knife instead. Cutting some of the vines and use the hardened edge to wedge free debris and throw it off to the side. <"This is going to take some time...">
"I say!" The droid moves up, standing on her head once more. It rotates one way, and then back the other. Little legs tapping along her helmet as it rotates around. "Yes, yes! My lady, if I'm not mistaken, it was clearly an AT-AT that came through here. The menace of the Imperial ground assault vehicles. Powerful cannons, carrying troops. Nigh invulnerable! Ah hah! See how it just knocked over the trees! Clearly, the work of Imperials!" He jabs a copper-colored leg at the knocked over vegetation.
It's not information the Ronin is eager to share with Larolia, a gloved hand dropping from a subtle outreach at his side to rest atop Artoo's dome, thunking the astromech lightly, even affectionately. "Good find, R2." The MVP, really. Cheerful beeping follows.
As Sira begins to clear muck and vines from the swamplogged vessel, Ben steps forward near her before murmuring, quietly, "I can extricate it." Confident. Not quite arrogant; calm, curious-- intrigued, even. Focused. Determined.
Solo's eyes close, and much like the gundarks before, he reaches out through the Force, connects his own field to the currents that surround the ship in the teeming swamp. It shudders, water sheds from its hull, dirt and detritus scatter as if of their own accord, and gradually-- but inexorably-- an unusual craft indeed rises from the muskeg.
R2 begins beeping excitedly; for those who understand, this is a Wyvern. A one of a kind starcraft. A soft frown creases Solo's face as the swept-wing, crash-landed ship comes to settle on more resilient ground next to its impact site, as if nearly weightless.
In truth, it's quite the opposite. There's weight in the reminiscence. Difficult truths. "We... shot this one down." It's not a group where he's forced to hide his identity; in fact it's a group where it would likely be a fruitless effort to say the least. "I wonder if the pilot survived."
Jaq'n Greayf, unable to help with retreiving or figuring anything about about the ship; stays nearby. He seems to be keeping an eye out for anything coming too close.
Clearing away the debris on the cockpit shows it was sealed, the seat empty save for a muddy footprint on the seat within.
<"We can get a fresh signal repeater in... Get a corvette to come do pick-up..."> Hadrix's voice rumbling on his vocalizer now that the ship has been uncovered, <"Mas'lanii has the cargo room for it. Can get it moved to where we need it."> Helmet turning towards the others before he gazes back at the ship.
Wherever the pilot is, they're not here. The ship left behind for some purpose - and it probably being due to the 'hectic' nature of the exfiltration. But the swamplands are quiet at the very least.
<"I suppose more for you to redeem for, Solo...">
The big man's growl audible in his voice, looking up and down the fuselage of the fighter craft while the rains pick up without warning, pouring water down onto the craft revealed for all to see.
It's at this moment that Wil knows this mission would not have been as successful as it was without Ben Solo, and it -infuriates- him. This man stole his home, his family of blood and choice from him. Left him to have only the choice to train for war.
And now he's here, thinking this will make up for it. The Force forgives, Wil Larolia, Captain of the Adept Hammer does not.
He stares at the ship hovering under the power of the Force. He's glad to have helped retrieve it. He's still mad. He's going to still be mad.
He looks toward Hadrix, then the Padawan, and finally Sira. "Good work."
<<"As I hear it.">> Sira moved a bit as it was lifted, then using the jetpack to lift free of it as it was brought up hovering by use of the mystical powers of the force. <<"That pilot was just about the only one that outflew you too.">> The Mandalorian woman looks over toward Ben Solo, then the little motion of her helmet in Wil's Direction.
<<"I'm sure that we will find a use for a ship of this caliber in the Rebellion.">> She moves a bit away from the fighter as she nods toward Hadrix, <<"That should be good for transport. I know at least one other person who would very much like to study it as well. You could say that she was a... person who appreciated the designer of the fighter.">> Sira reaches back into the utility belt and begins to tap away on it so that she can start planning and scheduling out what's to come of this ship.
Truth is: Ben doesn't blame Wil. Not one lick. It would be easy to simply be mad at himself in this moment; and the crippling of this particular prototype is far, far down his list of criminal antics. The hood of his jacket is drawn up over the Ronin's head, and he nods to Hadrix and Sira's assessments... and to Wil's affirmation, as well. It wasn't meant for him, but he keeps none for himself, but it's an uncomfortable sort of stoicism-- a facade over deeper, less immediately processed emotion.
"I'm going to see if I can trace the pilot's steps, they clearly did not die -here-." Whether eaten or left entombed, there would be remains were that the case, Solo feels it strongly. "This is a harsh place to be marooned on the best of nights. Make sure the Initiate gets back to his ship safely, Commander?"
Ben doesn't have to ask such a thing of Hadrix, and he knows it; but the consideration is there nonetheless, for both the other men. And with that the Ronin sets off into the deeper swamp, the pouring rain, following a trail nearly two decades old; a path that no longer exists. Or at least, no longer exists outside the Force. One way or another, it's where his own boots deign to tread, in this moment.
Jaq'n Greayf holsters his blaster and nods to the others before turning to follow Ben, he doesn't know how much help he can be but he will give it a shot.
