Post by Takeda on Oct 21, 2010 17:10:56 GMT -5
Character: Takeda
Location: Hyperspace on Banju-12 enroute to Coruscant
Other PCs: None
NPCs: Dweezel (R2 unit)
Takeda returns to the cockpit of the ship, taking off his grungy work jacket and tosses it on the unoccupied seat next to him as he slumps down.
"Dweezel, make a note, we need two new sequencing solenoids when we get to Coruscant."
Leaning back and closing his eyes, he tried to relax, it had been a eventful trip so far and full of much strangeness, aside from the right engine acting up again. If he could only get some decent sleep, must be hyperspace sickness, he had been running constantly, not good for a smaller ship or it’s crew.
His stop on Dantooine did result in a handsome profit, but he did not expect the punitive fuel costs he encountered when he arrived at Nar Shadda. Then there was the strange grubby alien he ran into when he was going to meet his customer. The robed figure, for he could not tell anything more about them other than they smelled, had darted out and walked right in front of him to stop him. Stunned, he stopped - a bad thing to do in the lower levels; people usually have enough self preservation instinct than to throw themselves in the path of a nearly nine foot tall blue monstrosity, but this one apparently did not care. It insistently babbled something at him about “leave the doors closed” or something. Takeda’s understanding of basic was excellent, but whatever dialect this one had or their choice of words led him to be baffled. Taking it as a warning that there was going to be an ambush further down the corridor, he flipped it some credits for the warning and proceeded on. After no real foul play ensued, he returned to his ship to prepare for the cargo delivery and forgot about it. That is until the nightmares started.
It was not something that was dwelled upon in the Clans, but being descended from Kwa, there was no escaping or hiding it, Long ago the old ones had built the gates and used them to travel the stars, or so the stories went. Something had gone wrong though, the resulting rumors and speculation as to exactly what went wrong was always quickly quashed by the story-tellers and historians of the clans; and varied from radiation mutation, to stranger things involving a back-flux of time or some other nonsense. The important part is that the Clans chose to exile themselves from their own people and culture and left the gates far behind. Beyond that were the histories of the Travels, the Great Lords, and the “Lessons of Duty” the basics any warrior could recite by rote memory.
But in his dreams he saw, or at least imagined the gates and the horror of them. The images that repeatedly cycled through his mind when he tried to rest were too real, tangible. The images of hundreds of broken and dying warriors leading to the steps of a large building, the black armored troops cutting down what looked like his people, luckily none he recognized personally. The gouts of fire the dying were incinerated with and their screams. And the lone bleeding figure standing in between two pillars smiling darkly, this one figure of all looked familiar but he could not ever place the face. With a flash the figure in the pillars disappeared, and the expanding light engulfed and pulled all into it, the screams as they were torn apart by the light were intense, the feeling of something then grabbing onto him and pulling him towards it...
“Beeeep!”
Dweezle, claw extended was pulling on his arm to alert him.
“Wha!?!” He awoke with a start, and tried to compose himself. “Of course I can see we are here!”
“Beeeep, beee-eep-beep, zonk.”
“What? Your microphones must be on the blink again, I certainly was not screaming like a human girl-child!”
Location: Hyperspace on Banju-12 enroute to Coruscant
Other PCs: None
NPCs: Dweezel (R2 unit)
Takeda returns to the cockpit of the ship, taking off his grungy work jacket and tosses it on the unoccupied seat next to him as he slumps down.
"Dweezel, make a note, we need two new sequencing solenoids when we get to Coruscant."
Leaning back and closing his eyes, he tried to relax, it had been a eventful trip so far and full of much strangeness, aside from the right engine acting up again. If he could only get some decent sleep, must be hyperspace sickness, he had been running constantly, not good for a smaller ship or it’s crew.
His stop on Dantooine did result in a handsome profit, but he did not expect the punitive fuel costs he encountered when he arrived at Nar Shadda. Then there was the strange grubby alien he ran into when he was going to meet his customer. The robed figure, for he could not tell anything more about them other than they smelled, had darted out and walked right in front of him to stop him. Stunned, he stopped - a bad thing to do in the lower levels; people usually have enough self preservation instinct than to throw themselves in the path of a nearly nine foot tall blue monstrosity, but this one apparently did not care. It insistently babbled something at him about “leave the doors closed” or something. Takeda’s understanding of basic was excellent, but whatever dialect this one had or their choice of words led him to be baffled. Taking it as a warning that there was going to be an ambush further down the corridor, he flipped it some credits for the warning and proceeded on. After no real foul play ensued, he returned to his ship to prepare for the cargo delivery and forgot about it. That is until the nightmares started.
It was not something that was dwelled upon in the Clans, but being descended from Kwa, there was no escaping or hiding it, Long ago the old ones had built the gates and used them to travel the stars, or so the stories went. Something had gone wrong though, the resulting rumors and speculation as to exactly what went wrong was always quickly quashed by the story-tellers and historians of the clans; and varied from radiation mutation, to stranger things involving a back-flux of time or some other nonsense. The important part is that the Clans chose to exile themselves from their own people and culture and left the gates far behind. Beyond that were the histories of the Travels, the Great Lords, and the “Lessons of Duty” the basics any warrior could recite by rote memory.
But in his dreams he saw, or at least imagined the gates and the horror of them. The images that repeatedly cycled through his mind when he tried to rest were too real, tangible. The images of hundreds of broken and dying warriors leading to the steps of a large building, the black armored troops cutting down what looked like his people, luckily none he recognized personally. The gouts of fire the dying were incinerated with and their screams. And the lone bleeding figure standing in between two pillars smiling darkly, this one figure of all looked familiar but he could not ever place the face. With a flash the figure in the pillars disappeared, and the expanding light engulfed and pulled all into it, the screams as they were torn apart by the light were intense, the feeling of something then grabbing onto him and pulling him towards it...
“Beeeep!”
Dweezle, claw extended was pulling on his arm to alert him.
“Wha!?!” He awoke with a start, and tried to compose himself. “Of course I can see we are here!”
“Beeeep, beee-eep-beep, zonk.”
“What? Your microphones must be on the blink again, I certainly was not screaming like a human girl-child!”
(
)checking the site..realizing no one's here and leaves