Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Star Wars / Space Opera Chapter 1 Subject: AAE9s: Interludes Among Enemies II (Star Wars) On Thu, 06 Nov 2003 22:29:03 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00011444 Thratchen toyed with a skull. It'd been told that the skull once belonged to a mentor of Lord Vader's, a man named "Jinn," like the genie it had met in Mobius' cosm. That encounter had not gone well, and it pleased the techno-demon to have this small revenge, if only by proxy. With a bit of tainting up, the skull would make a delightfully horrific talisman. "The Emperor will see you now," a human in enameled red armor said punctiliously. Most of the Galactic Empire's elite were humans, and it resulted in a certain amount of discrimination towards "aliens." Thratchen was an honored guest, however, so like many beings in such positions, the guard made up for it by being particularly formal. Whatever the Empire did, Palpatine himself was no fool. Thratchen's chair had been engineered specifically for not only its species, but Thratchen itself. With slots that not only admitted its wings but supported them, dataports for its cyberware, and a faint brimstone scent, it was a seat worthy of a Demon Prince. Thratchen rose with faint reluctance, noting the chair's construction for future reference. The human led it into a large, sparse chamber. While Thratchen's throne room on Tharkold was of equal size, its seethed with experiments technical, magical, and spiritual. Palpatine's was bare, suiting the contemplative nature of the Force -- even the Dark Side -- and the more subtle form of intimidation that the Emperor indulged in. Thratchen, of course, was not intimidated, but then, if any such as they could have friends, they had become as close as was possible to the concept. The Emperor smiled his skin-cracking leer. "It is good to see you, Prince Thratchen. I trust you were made comfortable?" "Absolutely, Your Imperial Majesty," Thratchen replied, nodding in as close to a bow as pride and station would permit. The Emperor noted the honor as the demon continued. "Comfort as would make even my fellow Demon Princes gray with envy. However, I suspect that you have not called me here to discuss amenities." The Emperor nodded. "My meditations have revealed what this world's heroes have made of a cognate to my world...and myself. Your nemesis and his woman snatched Lord Vader from my grasp when he was but a child. Now..." He waved a hand. A screen formed in mid-air, the room's systems conforming to his will. A bearded Anakin was kissing Senator Amidala, while Qui-Gon and Shmi looked on with joy. Thratchen fingered the skull on its belt lightly with one claw. "Is that older Jedi..." "The very same," Palpatine hissed. "I will not underestimate them as so many others have. The other members of their cadre, I have prepared for." Thratchen smiled. It was, if anything, more disturbing than Palpatine's previous leer. "You have also prepared for the lovers. I am here, after all." Palpatine nodded. "I understand you have...special preparations for them. You may indulge yourself, on one condition. I want you to prepare a contingency plan should they elude your more personal attentions." It was not a request. Thratchen bristled, but Palpatine was just polite enough to avoid a challenge. And it was a valid request, given the resources that he'd placed at Thratchen's disposal, the training in this realm's mystical power, and the clones he'd specifically bred for this contingency. "Of course, Emperor Palpatine. I assure you, the only way either will leave your realm alive is as my slaves." Palpatine nodded. "Good, good." His horrible, sadistic grin reappeared. "Your techno-demon warriors are proving to be gloriously intimidating. By adding a theatrical touch to their appearance, they are virtually identical to this land's legends of demons. 'Asuras,' I believe they call them. They are proving most valuable in discouraging the area's mystics from investigating the Force." Thratchen tapped at the console in its right arm with its left hand. "I can double their numbers, if you like. One of my Demon Lords, Aras benHaav, failed me not especially long ago, and is driven to prove itself -- _him_self -- to redeem himself." Palpatine raised an eyebrow. "'Him'self? I was under the impression that your kind did not take gender permanently." Thratchen shrugged. "Aras is considered something of a pervert by our kind. He prefers male gender to the point of taking on its traits to the exclusion of female ones. His reputation among humans, his genius, and his ruthlessness all combine to make him more of an asset than his 'perversion' does a liability among my peers." "So this oddity does not bother you?" Palpatine asked conversationally. "Certainly less so than Vader's occasional bouts of compassion do you, I think," Thratchen noted. Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "Have a care, Prince Thratchen," the emperor warned. "Verbal probing is to be expected, but there are limits to my patience." Thratchen conceded the point with a shrug and an almost-nod. "As you wish, Majesty." Palpatine considered for a moment. "Your point is well-made, however. Though Vader is quite efficient, his enthusiasm is occasionally lacking. He is also rather hard on the command staff." Thratchen nodded in a relatively sympathetic manner. "I occasionally have to reinforce dominance over my servitors with a combination of reward and taint. Does he have any remaining family, aside from the Skywalker boy?" Palpatine shook his head. "And I have already assigned him to that task. Further, there is very little more that I can do to reward him." Thratchen stroked its chin thoughtfully. It was a tough skull to crack, to be sure. "I may be able to do something about his flesh with Tharkoldu techno-magic." Palpatine shook his head. "To have him in that armor is...useful to me." Thratchen considered this for a moment. Then a horrible, shark-toothed smile formed on its face. "Perhaps, then, an...upgrade?" it asked. When Palpatine simply stared coolly, awaiting further explanation, Thratchen held out his hand and the new-and-improved Defender appeared, battling Amazo on the Pennsylvania/Maryland border. "My dear old friend won't be needing his for much longer, and I'm sure that a few layers of Phoenix-skin, treated with the Dark Side, should also prove...useful." The two locked eyes for almost a full minute. Then Palpatine began to chuckle, followed by Thratchen. Their laughter slowly grew until both were howling in maniacal glee... -- (/) Roland Evil GM-san, hard at work... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9: Dividing Lines On Thu, 25 Mar 2004 14:51:09 -0800 Nemo Said As CAoL Message # 00011858 A young girl in a 1890s "page boy/messenger boy" type outfit steps out of an X-window. "Package for Grephnix? Package for Grephnix?" She's holding package wrapped in plain brown paper(?) about the size of a large paperback book. When Roger comes forward, she'll have him sign for the package and she'll vanish thru the X-window again. The package won't set of any hazard scanners. Well, most hazard scanners anyway. When Roger unwraps it, there's another package inside, some sort of non-descript gray "plastic" material with a small disc attached. When Roger touches the disc, a 3-d image appears above it. It's of a non-descript man sitting at a desk. "Good morning, Mr. Grephnix. I'm Ian MacHinery, director of the Network Enforcement Multiversal Organisation." "Your mission, should you decide to accept it is to arrange to have the contents of this package captured by Imperial Forces. They must believe that they were *not* intended to capture it." "Under no circumstances should you or anyone with a Lens or means of instantly comphrending a language examine the contents of the package." "It contains a set of orders and organizational instructions in an artificial language. With some effort the Imperial forces will be able to learn the language and read the contents. This will be aided by the fact that part of the package is a tutorial for the language." "The language is well suited for use as a 'battle language' and allows very concise instructions for attacks, espionage and sabotage. This will explain its use and the presence of the tutorial. It will also encourage the Imperials to train some people in it. This is the goal of the mission." "The language, Babel-17, is a memetic booby-trap. It's structure causes those who learn it to be prediposed to destroying, rather than building, and in short order they will do their best (which will be very good due to those same thought patterns) to destroy their own system. This will at least cripple the Empire." "As always, if you or any of your force be captured, my secretary will disavow all knowledge." "This disc will self-destruct in 10 seconds..." The disc does indeed vanish in a puff of vapor, without even a scratch mark left behind. (OOC: Babel-17 is from the book of the same name by Samuel R. Delany. It dates from *before* his obsession with style over substance. It's quite good. And the language is at *least* as bad as I describe) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9: Dividing Lines On Thu, 1 Apr 2004 18:56:33 -0500 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00011902 >shadow wrote on 3/25/2004, 6:10 PM: > >A young girl in a 1890s "page boy/messenger boy" type outfit steps >out of an X-window. > >"Package for Grephnix? Package for Grephnix?" "Here," the Grey Jedi calls. >She's holding package wrapped in plain brown paper(?) about the size >of a large paperback book. > >When Roger comes forward, she'll have him sign for the package and >she'll vanish thru the X-window again. > >The package won't set of any hazard scanners. Well, most hazard >scanners anyway. Grephnix's Force sensitivity definitely tags the package as dangerous, but only if "provoked." He also gets the distinct impression that digging deeper would be... inadviseable. Trusting to his precognition to warn him if that changes, he signs for the package and tips the delivery person. Generously. >When Roger touches the disc, a 3-d image appears above it. It's of a >non-descript man sitting at a desk. > >"Good morning, Mr. Grephnix. I'm Ian MacHinery, director of the >Network Enforcement Multiversal Organisation." Grephnix looks... mildly pained, but doesn't do the usual Roger Reactions. >"Your mission, should you decide to accept it is to arrange to have >the contents of this package captured by Imperial Forces. They must >believe that they were *not* intended to capture it." "Mr. MacHinery shares, it seems, some of my Prime Self's taste for kitsch," Grephinix remarks evenly. >"Under no circumstances should you or anyone with a Lens or means of >instantly comphrending a language examine the contents of the >package." [Well, that explained the Force warnings.] >"The language, Babel-17, is a memetic booby-trap. It's structure >causes those who learn it to be prediposed to destroying, rather than >building, and in short order they will do their best (which will be >very good due to those same thought patterns) to destroy their own >system. This will at least cripple the Empire." "But at what cost in collateral damage, I wonder?" Grephnix weighs the package in his hand, thinking carefully, testing the currents of the Force. >"As always, if you or any of your force be captured, my secretary >will disavow all knowledge." "Naturally." >"This disc will self-destruct in 10 seconds..." > >The disc does indeed vanish in a puff of vapor, without even a >scratch mark left behind. "Well, this may prove... useful." The package vanishes into the folds of Grephnix's cloak. =========================== Subject: AAE9s: Smuggler's Blues On Mon, 5 Apr 2004 22:47:23 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00011914 Grephnix was in no hurry. He slipped through the busy night streets and back alleys of Casablanca, following the currents of the Force, somehow always missing most of the various powers vying covertly for control of the city. Mostly. Several street gang members and a Nile Empire special-ops team found themselves with severely incapacitating but non-life-threatening injuries, and only vague memories of what had happened to them. Several victims and a pair of budding young superheroes were, conversely, left unharmed but with similarly muddled recall. His perambulations eventually drifted to a stop in front of a high-class nightclub with a very slightly disreputable air to it. The sign read, simply, "Rick's." "Well," the grey Jedi murmured, checking to make sure that his recently-acquired shadow was still in place. "I was looking for a hive of scum and villainy, but I suppose this will have to do." Shifting his aura and body language to "monied gentleman," he strode in through the front door with a small smile of amusement, gently declined an offer to check his cloak, turned down the cigarette girl's offer of a fine Cuban, and gently persuaded the maitre'd that his business was in the back room. A perky young hostess with clever eyes and a bright smile was assigned to lead his way, and he took the opportunity to appreciate the aesthetic sway of her profile as the white-suited black man at the piano accompanied himself through a slow, bluesy tune. Part of one verse caught Grephnix's ear as they passed through the variegated haze of smokes and perfumes: "...it's the politics of contraband, it's those, smuggler's bluuuuuues..." He shook his head wryly. Some of the effects of the cosm invasion were downright *odd.* The hostess showed him into the back room, and closed the door behind him. He stepped into a dimly-lit room populated by card tables, card players, and attractive, attentive dealers and wait staff who were almost certainly more than they appeared. The short, searching looks he took from all present told him all he needed to know. One man, dressed in a simple but very expensive white suit, didn't turn his attention back to cards, but instead folded and made his apologies before making his way over to face Grephnix, not quite confrontationally. The Jedi could feel at least two staff behind him, being very subtle to one without Force senses. "I don't recall seeing you here before," the white-suited man stated calmly. "This room is usually reserved for customers with long standing... and deep pockets." Grephnix bowed politely. "Monsieur Rick, good evening. My pockets are deep enough to meet my needs, I generally find. As to the other, you are correct. This is my first time here. I am reliably informed, however, that this is the best place to... meet people." Rick's eyes flickered, but his face remained politely neutral. "My place attracts all kinds of people, but I tend to be exclusive about my clientele. Avoids trouble with the authorities. Perhaps you could tell me what kind of people you want to meet." "Oh, risk-takers, adventurers, gamblers... private entrepreneurs. Venture capitalists, one might say." As Grephnix gestured vaguely to illustrate his description, his cloak opened just enough so that Rick, and only Rick, could see the lightsaber hanging from his belt. The bar owner's faced tightened for a millisecond, then relaxed. "Well, Mr...?" "Grephnix." "Mr. Grephnix, welcome to my place. If you want gamblers, you'll find plenty here. The stakes are pretty high..." Rick trailed off slightly. "But you don't strike me as a man who shies away from risk." "Risk is not a thing to be courted, but neither is it to be avoided entirely," Grephnix said philosophically. "Not if one wishes to accomplish anything in life." Rick nodded, acknowledging the double meaning, and politely gestured the Jedi towards the gaming tables. The wave of relief that rippled outwards from their little confrontation was nearly palpable. Grephnix wove his way unhurriedly among the tables, following the currents of the Force again, feeling for... Ah. There. He stepped up to one table just in time to capture a free chair as its previous occupant stormed away in a huff, money belt significantly lighter. The woman across the table called after him jovially about another game sometime, ostentatiously counting her winnings. She stopped trickling credits, jewels, and trinkets through her fingers as the Jedi took the vacated seat. "Well, what do we have here?" she inquired, raking him with a sharp gaze. He returned her regard more politely, but with no less attention to detail. Black leather, tight but serviceable, made up most of her wardrobe, accented by colorful scarves and a a falchion in a scabbard that had seen a great many miles. Dangerous swordswomen were something Grephnix was quite familiar with, and this woman definitely qualified. "Merely someone looking for a game," Grephnix replied. "Chance favors me tonight." "Really?" drawled the swordswoman. "Well, then, let's see how well your streak meets mine. You got any money to put where that luck is, neighbor?" The Jedi merely smiled and flipped a coin towards the center of the table. It never arrived -- her hand flickered like a striking snake and snapped it from midair. Her face went very still as she examined the symbols on each face --the bird, and the upthrust lightsaber-- before leaning back in her seat and biting the coin with deliberate insouciance. "Your money's good, neighbor, I'll grant you that," she said at length, tossing the coin back onto the table. "But it's not enough." "That, Grephnix said with a quiet smile, "will not be a problem." His hand moved across the table, and where it had passed, a half dozen small spherical jewels lay on the dark velvet, almost glowing in the dim light. His opponent leaned forward sharply despite herself, hissing slightly. "Those are--!" Her gaze narrowed, suddenly suspicious, one hand dropping to the hilt of her blade. "I've seen Hiroseki Stones before. They say that..." "That the stones are actually the tears of a celestial creature, usually bound and tortured to wring them forth," Grephnix finished for her. He gestured to the jewels. "But if you have seen them before, you will no doubt recall that, for all their value, those stones are always slightly flawed in the center, and never quite truly round." She leaned forward, still suspicious, and picked one up as if it might bite. She examined it closely for a long moment before meeting his eyes again, not quite able to conceal her expression. "There are tears of sorrow," he explained in a voice that reached no ears but her own, "but there are also tears of joy. Those who stoop to harvesting the first seldom, in my experience, ever find the latter." She set the stone back in its place almost reverently. "Well, neighbor, I'd say you've got the stakes. What's your pleasure?" He picked up the deck of cards and began shuffling it handily. "Well, since I feel our time is limited, perhaps a single hand, winner takes all? S'Ar Kon Qui?" His opponent looked rather impressed. "Well now, you *are* a gambler." He smiled. "Only on a sure thing." The hand took five minutes to play out. The pot ended in her hands, and she stood away from the table, scooping her winnings into her pouch. "Well, neighbor, it looks like your luck ran out." He rose with her, looking less than disappointed. "Or perhaps chose a different direction." "Yeah. Well, I have to get back to my ship, but maybe I could buy you a drink on the way out?" "Captain, I would be delighted." They made random small talk until they were back on the street, at which point the Captain felt it safe enough to discuss their real business in low tones. "So, where do you need to go?" "I need to make contact with the Alliance on the subcontinent, or one of the nearby islands." She nodded, and made a loud comment about the recent weather and its effects on sailing. "That's doable. BTW, do you know we've picked up a tail?" "I've been waiting for him. It took a lot of work to keep him on my trail, earlier -- he's not very competent. I have a present for him." "Ah. Uh, oh -- Storm Poopers." Grephnix avoided snarfing by dint of the Force. "Yes, I see. Unusual for them to operate this openly in Casablanca, isn't it?" She shrugged. "Free city. Each major power tries not to provoke the others too much here, but they must be interested in you." "Excellent. Shall I meet you at your ship?" She looked mildly offended. "And miss out on a good fight?" "Oh, trust me, there'll be plenty more before this is over." They strolled down the next cross-street. She ducked down a side alley, but their pursuers failed to see that for some reason. Instead, they focussed on Grephnix and closed in. Another squad of white-armored troops surged out of another alley ahead, and suddenly the street emptied with remarkable speed. Grephnix stood alone against two full squads of... Storm Poopers. A grin forced its way onto his lips, rather against his will. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he inquired politely. The lead Stormpoo-- StormTROOPER stepped forward. "By order of Emperor Palpatine, you are under arrest." "I am sorry, but I must decline." The lead ST drew his carbine. "You are coming with us. Dead or alive, you are coming with us." Grephnix cocked an eyebrow. "Wrong movie. I'm afraid you do not realize who you are dealing with, Lieutenant." His hand appeared from under his cloak holding his lightsaber, which ignited with a FWISH-ZUUUUUMMMMMM. The two squads took a step back from their quarry with a collective "eep." The actinic blue-white blade glowed in the dark street, but eerily cast no shadows. Then Grephnix held the saber out horizontally... and triggered the *other* end. The STs took *two* steps back, this time. A Jedi was one bad enough. But only the most lethally combat-skilled of Force users wielded the double-ended lightsaber. Grephnix looked at the force commander pityingly. "I *will* offer you the chance to surrender, Lieu--" "OPEN FIRE!" [My, they make Stormtroopers high-strung these days] Even for Imperial Stormtroopers, these men were pathetic. Casablanca must have been some kind of punishment posting for the Empire. Standing at both ends of a street, firing at a target between them, the only thing that saved them from a friendly-fire massacre was Grephnix's lightsaber. What was even *more* pathetic was that they just kept right on shooting, hosing at each other on full auto. Grephnix was forced to his limit immediately, just trying to keep the idiots from killing each other (not to mention nuking the block). His lightsaber blurred into a virtual wall of energy reflecting shots up into the air, down into the sewers, and occasionally back into the shooters (non-lethally). [The best laid plans. Mother would laugh herself hoarse, were she here...] Fully a quarter of the STs had been laid low in the first five seconds before overheating guns and depleted powerpacks began forcing a lull in the firing. Finally provided with a bit of breathing space, Grephnix leaped onto a clothesline strung across the streeet overhead, contriving through the Force to make it bear his weight and remain unsevered while he drew his enemies' fire in a safer direction. To give credit where it was due, none of the STs tried to run. Every one of them held their ground and kept firing for the next ten seconds, until only one remained standing, hosing away on full auto at Grephnix with aim so poor that not a single bolt even came within lightsaber reach. The trooper's last magazine fizzled out one last, anemic bolt, and gave up the ghost. Grephnix *stared,* frankly aghast. "That, friend, was just pathetic." For some reason, the stormtrooper seemed to take this personally and began jumping up and down, yelling profanity through the voice-flattening modulation of his helmet and waving his empty carbine. Grephnix, still standing on the clothesline, honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This plan was a complete failure, all due to the incompetence of the enemy. But necessity *is* the mother of invention, after all... He reached out with the Force, found one trooper in the squad behind him still semiconscious and with an operational weapon, and prodded him. He took over the aiming of the carbine himself -- this was going to require precision. The last trooper standing, who had proven himself unable to hit the broad side of a stationary Jedi who *wanted* to be hit, was caught completely by surprise when a bolt from the blue struck the insulting Jedi glancingly in the back, slicing away part of his equipment belt and throwing him off his perch in a graceless tangle of arms and legs to land heavily on the street. With a whoop, the trooper charged in, visions of promotions and medals dancing in his head -- and walked facefirst into a telekinetic Force ram as the wounded Jedi pulled himself upright and began staggering away into the nearest alley, bleeding heavily and moving in a way that suggested severe wounds. Unfortunately for that last trooper, he would be unconscious for the better part of a week, and on soft foods for a month after -- Grephnix had been just a teeny bit irritable. The young "puppeted" trooper who had succeeded in shooting him in the back, with helmet recordings to prove it, would instead receive all the credit for wounding an enemy of the Empire -- and forcing him to drop a pouch containing critical encrypted information about the Rebellion's plans... OOC: Say, where's Indy? Greph still has a package to deliver him before leaving sunny Casablanca. If Dr. Jones is heading for Rick's, I can retcon in an exchange there. 00c2: Caught one of the Season 2 eps of Clone Wars last Tuesday. Mace. Windu. Kicks. Ass. 'nuff said. =========================== Subject: AAE9s: Forever Will It Dominate On Fri, 31 Dec 2004 01:46:42 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012340 Anakin Skywalker shuddered as TIE Fighters screamed overhead. He pulled his hood more fully over his head and grimaced. "Master, this place..." "Yes, I know," Qui-Gon nodded, keeping his head carefully bowed beneath his own hood as they walked through the streets of New Delhi. "The Dark Side is everywhere, clouding our sight, tainting the very air. Calm. Seek calm. The Light is never far, as long as you remember the living Force." Anakin nodded back and breathed with deliberate concentration. "Yes, Master." He shook his head. "It's just...all these _distractions._ This evil Emperor invading Roland and Morgan's homeworld, Amidala being here, and something in the cosmic Force...like a mirror in the Dark Side..." "Do not dwell overmuch on the last," Qui-Gon reassured the Padawan innocently. "The Dark Side is deceptive by nature. It is not the balance of the Light -- the living and the cosmic are the two primal facets of the Force, personal and universal." Anakin smiled fondly. "A familiar lesson, Master." He looked up suddenly, tugging carefully at the older Jedi's arm. The two ducked, watching with disapproval as a phalanx of techno-demons soared overhead, mocking the terrified masses of humans beneath them as they passed. "Master, those aliens..." Qui-Gon nodded again, even the Jedi Master's face turning a faint green at the foulness passing over them. "We must be careful, Anakin. They are powerful creatures, steeped in the Dark Side. Still..." The older Jedi gestured at the air, and the techno-demons looked to their right and swerved away. "...for all their might, the Dark Side clouds its servants more than any others." Anakin shuddered. "I can't imagine why _anyone_ would deliberately embrace the Dark Side." "Not all who succumb to its power do so willingly, Anakin," Qui-Gon warned him. "Anger and fear have corrupted more than one Jedi, and the Dark Path is very jealous indeed. Every step makes the next one forward easier and the first one back that much harder." Anakin nodded soberly. * * * Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, watched techno-demons, a platoon of the Emperor's Royal Guards, and a squadron of Scimitars fly overhead. His impassive appearance was maintained by his powerful black armor, which allowed him to remain perfectly still without discomfort. At least, with no more discomfort than mere existing caused. Within, however, there was more turmoil than the simple neural reactions caused by the many systems keeping his ravaged body alive. He sensed a disturbance in the Force. This one was even more enigmatic than the one that had led him to Obi-Wan and sweet revenge. That sensation had felt faint and ephemeral, but it was what it was. This feeling...changed. It was like being in a hall of mirrors where each surface turned slowly, showing a new, kaleidoscopic image every moment. Whenever the Sith Lord thought he'd found the pattern, he turned a corner and it was gone. It was like a half-remembered dream, just out of reach, but he could snatch separate images from oblivion. Vader dismissed the sensation with an act of iron will. [I dream no more,] he thought coldly. [I am not as other men. My sleep is to be recharged in an Imperial Energy Pod. My vision is to see what is before me coldly, clinically, clearly.] In his thoughts, he saw Thratchen approaching. "Lord Vader," the Demon Prince said smoothly, landing next to the Sith. "Prince Thratchen," Vader intoned. "How go the hunts?" Thratchen asked, leaning on the railing as the small flight review faded into the distance. "These native mystics seem to almost fall into the Force, don't they?" A lesser villain might have taken umbrage, or blustered to hide weakness, or used the opportunity to take a shot at his colleague. Vader simply nodded. "Our forces kill them by the dozens. In spite of that, every day dozens more vanish into the jungles and swamps." "Humans are contrary creatures," Thratchen noted idly, examining one cyber-magical claw. "Some resist simply for the sake of resistance." "Others," Vader noted in turn, gesturing at the obedient masses below, "know their place." Thratchen snorted. "True enough. Still, in numbers this large, you _expect_ difficulties, I'm sure. Domination, fear and control, are the only effective weapons against that contrariness." Vader permitted himself a touch of annoyance. The conversation seemed pointless. "Why are you here, Demon Prince?" "Stormers have infiltrated the realm. Stormers from reflections of your own cosm," Thratchen said. It rolled its wing joints as a human might relax his shoulders. "There are others of course, but..." "The Emperor has foreseen Jedi interference," Vader responded dismissively. "It will be dealt with, as will these native 'heroes.'" He paused, turning his helmet enough that he might have been looking at the techno-demon. "The so-called Champions, of course, are yours." "There are only two I desire," Thratchen rumbled, flexing its talons, "but I am happy to lend my efforts to the cause." Vader considered the Tharkoldu for several seconds. "Are you truly providing such considerable assistance simply for help in your vengeance?" Thratchen laughed cruelly. "Didn't you?" When Vader didn't rise to the bait, the demon shrugged. "Sith lore is proving very...instructive." Darth Vader turned to face Thratchen more fully. After staring at it for several seconds more, he handed it a small cylinder from his armor. "Eh?" Thratchen asked, looking the rod over curiously. "I have been sensing a strange ripple in the Force for over a day," Vader hissed, turning and walking back inside. "Perhaps your 'instruction' in Sith lore will be useful in identifying it." With that, doors slid shut, leaving the techno-demon behind. [I dream no more,] Vader insisted to himself. He almost believed it... =========================== Subject: AAE9s: We Can ReBuild Him On Tue, 8 Feb 2005 15:12:41 -0800 (PST) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012369 Thratchen watches the Emperor's technicians and his newly designed specialist Asura demons work, spinning the cylinder Lord Vader gave him idly in one hand as a man would toy with a cigar. The captured rebel strapped in the Pain Amplifier screams the high-pitched, wavering sound like a trapped animal. Humanity's vaunted reason crumbled so easily from simple pain, this torment must be carefully applied. Specialists operated on the helpless woman, installing component after component of the new cyborg equippage. This, of course, was much slower and less efficient than the induction blast - or indeed, the induction blast furnaces now in use to process the bulk of the populace. However, the purpose here was not just to ruin one of the females the Source had empowered as a champion - but to subvert the stronger of their pairing, the man strapped helplessly just across the aisle. He had been stripped, shaved bare, and his body had been carefully scanned for implanted devices, but his injuries from capture were bandaged. No additional harm or pain had been dealt to him. Quite purposefully, for as he watched his companion writhe, scream, and slowly be subsumed into a biomechanical slave, the seething rage he tried to resist darkened, and slowly grew deeper, angrier. The light within him was dimming, faltering against his own helplessness, guilt, grief, and anger. Without warning, a sharp probe suddenly floated, darting toward Thratchen, burying itself between his eyes and discharging the liquid nitrogen within. The techno-demon lorg howls - as an ugly, victorious grimace took over the man's face - changing to utter dismay as the howl becomes laughter. "How deep your hate. How useless your love, for this creature who now obeys my will alone." Thratchen says, walking calmly down to face the man. He snaps his fingers and the cyborg demon-woman is released, as the attendants fix metal wings to her, her mouth full of fangs, her eyes full of dark hungers. "You feel the true power of the Force, pounding through you, making you stronger than ever before." The techno-demon laughs again, scratching a light X over the man's heart. "Have the new one do his transformation; they shall both join the Hunter squadrons. Their skills shall serve me well in seeking out others of the Force, within the jungle." The man screams out some name or other, trying to make his former teacher stop, but it is in vain. Metal arms, spells, curses, and the cyborg's quick, efficient fingers begin to settle in the controls and compulsions even as the light of the Force within him is shattered by the flooding darkness and horrified anger. "When their numbers are sufficient," Thratchen ponders aloud, satisfied by the feel of the torment as he walks through several more bays where other prisoners of special ability with the Force are being likewise forcefully converted into his personal forces, "the source of this disturbance shall witness their might in mass." -- Thratchen Who is calling them Hunters on purpose, of course. :) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Onward On Thu, 24 Feb 2005 10:42:36 -0800 (PST) Driscoll Said As CAoL Message # 00012404 [snip the part that's in aae9-23.txt] Meanwhile in the empire streaks an Inperial freighter with a bit of an unusual crew. "Transmitting codes... accepted. Ta them Imperials we're just another one of their ships. IFF checks." mutters the pilot, Forg Zanta. His fingers move over the cotnrols like a concert pianist. "I still think this is suicide..." mutters the olive-skinned human behind him. Forg's head shakes, "You gonna go asking Jabba why he's all of a sudden wanting this mission. expecially when he's willing to pay 10 times the usual fee. When Jabba actually gets generous, he's not goign to take a No for an answer Thrak." Thark scroffed and turned to leave the cockpit, "That's whyI think this is suicide. Jabba's not going to offer that kinda money if he thinks you're going to be able to come back and collect!" The ship slipped lithefully through the fighters and frigates all moving towardsthe rend in space. Forg let out a low whistle at the sight of it, "Never seen that before... Well I've flown this baby through time, through and exploding mood, what's a little black hole?" He flipped the mic button for the ship's intercom, "Entering the anomoly now. Brace yourselves just in case." The ship accellerated towards the tear and did a barrelroll as it slipped inside. The world begans to seem to bend and twist around them, "R2R2 Nav status?" The Astromech droid whistledand bleeped, his light changing to an ominous shade of read. "OK remind me to put a vocal synthesizer in you sometime so I can get a straight answer out of you," Growled Forg as he navigated the nullspace, hoping to be through it any moment. Suddenly the world came back into being around them again, but things went form bad to worse. "CRAP! We're in an atmosphere now!" The Tie ship able to fly in either, but having to be handled differently. It tumbled and spiraled as Forg fought the controls, finally getting the atmospheric systems on-line and the ship stablized again. "GX-32-Z state your status" the radio crackled. Frog winced, having hoped that no one woudl have noticed his tumble. He flicked a switch "GX-32-Z status stable. had a malfunction in the atmo system had to reshunt." The radio was quiet a moment and then crackld again, "GX-32-Z Who are you? I'm seeing no record of you on our movement orders adn your voice... it doesn't sound quite... human.." "THAT'S CUZ I'M A SULLUSTAN YOU BIG HAIRY APE!!" Forg blared into the radio, his short temper completely spent. His fingers raced acros the controls, bringing on-line the shield generators, weapons nad full power to his engines. He decided as a last moment decision to give some warning to those int he back, "Buckle in, the ride just got bumpy" Engaging the atmospheric engines, the large ship suddenly doubled and tripled its speed, moving faster than even an Interceptor. Tie Fighers pealed off from the main force try to catch the fleeing freighter. Forg grinned and lowered his speed to let them catch up with him. Red ion light from their blasters lanced out at him, but the ship twisted and rolled out of the way of most of them. One shot managed to stroke, but simply illuminated the shielding encasing the ship. Forg pulled the ship up and flipped it around, glad for inertial dampeners quelling G-forces that would otherwise have crushed him. Slowly, a group of tie fighters drifted into the heads up display before him and Forg took a big breath. Tapping the Mic, "Chitath stand by for main weapons drain on the system." He opened the lid covering a large red trigger atop his controls and then fired. All the windows and screens became bathed in bright white light as the cannon fired... a cannon meant for a Capitol ship, not a freighter. A wave of white energy enveloped the ships, disolving metal as it hit, tearing the ships up like they were made of tissue paper. Error light and soft alarms started going off all over Forg as he blinked his eyes, trying to get them to clear again from the flash of the blast. Chitath would take care of them from his post in then engineering section anyways. Slowly the world started coming into focus again... including a large white spire that became larger and larger faster. Finally Forg's vision cleared enough to make it out and that it WASN"T a cloud, "OH CRAP! MOUNTAIN!!!" He jerked the controls as hard as he could, turning the ship, but not enough to miss the giant mountain completely. The ship shuddered and a blizzard of snow few up in its wake as it slide across the cap. He fought the controls to keep the ship steady, but the power drain and the impact damage weren't going to let it happen. The best he could do was slow the ship's decent and angle for a valley to land it in. Sparks flew up and rocks and snow flew aside as he ship lurched across the ground, finally coming to a stop. Forg sat in his chair and caught his breath again before he clicks on the intercom, "Ok we're here. Thank you for flying Imperial Spaceways." =========================== Subject: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:26:33 -0800 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012413 "{We're passing through their magnetic field,}" Roland reports from the cockpit of the Slingshot, as the CAoL unit heads for the reality storm on the edge of the Galactic Empire's realm. The speakers crackle with static as the Champion forces the craft to obey his commands. "{Hold tight!}" The ship bucks as wave after wave of red-blue lightning crashes around the indomitable craft. After a few shudders, however, the energy master waves his hand rather like a certain 'old wizard' affecting the weak-minded, and the magnetic forces wash off the protection around them. "Switched your deflectors on double front, huh?" Morgan quips. The druidess is wearing her usual grey, though a lighter shade this time -- a front-wrap tunic over a mid-calf skirt, a plain-looking knife in a sheath on her belt. The whole ensemble is designed to be unremarkable. Her now-shoulder-length hair is a mousy brunette instead of it's usual auburn, and her features are a bit sharper than her natural appearance. Roland nods, reaching for a switch on the panel to his left, then does a double-take, gets the quote (and his own subconscious set-up for it) and scowls at his lady love. He can't maintain it, however, when she blows a kiss at him, and Roland can't help but grin in response. The Eternal, in turn, is wearing beat-up bluish armor covering his torso, lower arms, and legs from the knees down, with faded yellow cloth underneath as a base. His own features are more blunt, like someone who bulls his way through life and has the flattened looks to show for it. {Unidentified vessel on bearing 1-0-5, report your identity and status,} a professional, albeit slightly bored, voice orders. {Ah, this is the 'Shotput' inbound to Hyderabad with Imperial fighter supplies?} Roland replies, questioning as much as answering in his reply. {Hm. I don't see you on the schedule,} the voice replies, as bored as ever. {I swear, sir,} Roland says, putting a touch of panic into his tone, {I have all the required clearances. Our contractor spoke to Colonel Denbos personally...} The voice's boredom vanishes. {Colonel Denbos? One second,} he replies, cutting the connection. Roland grins like the cat that ate the canary and flips Morgan a 'thumbs up.' {Ah, our apologies, Shotput, just a computer glitch, you're on schedule and fully cleared. Come in on approach twelve.} {Thank you, tower,} Roland says, not having to fake all of the relief in his voice. {Just one question, inbound...what the hell kind of name is 'Shotput?'} {Something these primitives came up with,} Roland explains, his grin broadening. {Shotput signing off.} Flipping the communicator off, he leans back and takes the control via TK as he folds his hands behind his head. "Gotta love friends in convenient places," Morgan replies. "Who says I can't do sneaky?" Roland laughs. "UNTIL's agents are having a field day in India. It was just a matter of getting the right person to bribe the right official." He chuckles. "Glad I told the team before we came in, though. Source knows _what_ some of them would've done if I sprung it on 'em." His smile turns sly. "And with Driss in the group, I was sorely tempted." The Eternal's fingers dance across the console one more time as the ship makes final approach. He pauses as an anomaly appears on the scanners. "What the nass...?" A gesture summons a tiny holographic image. Another magnifies it. Roland groans. /*Okay, team, we're coming in for a landing, and we have clearance, but there's a techno-demon on site inspecting ships. Fortunately, it seems to be 'just' a winged cyborg Dark Jedi now instead of having the full complement of Tharkoldu powers. We should be all right...but you know where the fighter bays are, just in case.*/ The massive wheels touch down as the ship lands and turns gracefully to head towards a hangar. /*Quick reminder, if things go to the Abyss, we're to meet our two contacts at the Darklighter in the Old Quarter.*/ The team can feel his mind flicker -- probably his ESP -- before he continues. /*Of course, the 'Old Quarter' looks only five thousand years ahead of us instead of ten thousand, but you've all seen the holos. Cross your fingers.*/ With that, he gathers his identicards and strides toward the hatch. When the door opens, the techno-demon is floating right in front of the ramp. Roland forces himself to take a step back in surprise (real, this time) rather than knock the creature into next week with a lightning bolt. "And who might you be, monkey-boy?" the creature asks with a leer. Roland takes a few seconds more to 'recover' than strictly necessary, then glares at the creature. "Out of my way, _alien._ I paid good bribes to Denbos and his cronies. Try anything and you'll be spare parts in the morning. HRRK!" He gasps as the demon grabs him by the neck and hauls him into the air. "Pav racist fool. If Thratchen allowed..." the demon fingers the lightsaber hanging from its harness, blood-red sparks flickering from its aperture. Morgan's hand drops to her belt knife, the reflex one would expect of someone preparing to defend a crew-mate. The fact that she stopped before drawing it is also what one would expect of someone who doesn't want to find out first-hand what all that cyberware feels like. "But it _doesn't_ allow, does it?" Roland snarled through choked breath, pulling out a battered bronze sphere, rather like a sculpture of an orange with faint glowing lights within. "Now, unless you want to be a blue-gray smear on the walls, I suggest you _put_me_down_ before we _both_ lose our grips." The techno-demon looks furious for a moment, then drops the 'monkey' and laughs. "You're my kind of scum, monkey -- fearless and inventive." It waves Roland on, spreading its wings and ascending slowly. Underneath the craft, nervous port workers exhale in relief as they unload the TIE-Fighter parts onto floater platforms. "But stay out of trouble, or I'll still skin you," it finishes, pivoting and winging slowly away. [Whew.] Roland walks down the ramp, eyeing the loaders as they floated the equipment out of the Slingshot's hastily-disguised bay. "Watch yourselves with that equipment. I've made delivery, so it's no skin off my nose, but you break anything and the Imperials'll take it out of your hide," he comments roughly. "Whatever," one of them replies in the tone of someone who has been working a menial job far too long. Roland sighs, wondering if they would even care if the techno-demon decided to 'toy' with them. [You can't save everyone,] he reminds himself, not liking it but more accepting of the truth than he's been. "Let's find some place to wind down," the 'captain' says. "I've heard good things about the Darklighter in the Old Quarter." As the rest of the 'crew' disembarks, one of the loaders' eyes loses a bit of dullness. "Hey, aren'tcha gonna leave someone here to watch'er ship?" Roland grins piratically and presses a button on his chest plate. A destroyer droid strides to the doorway, glowing eyes scanning the room as the ramp slides back up. "Good help isn't as hard to find as they say," he replies, "if you know where to look." "Or shop," his 'first mate' adds casually. "Geez, I haven't seen one'a them since the Clone Wars..." the technician gulps as the droid vanishes behind the closing hatch and the group walks on. * * * Flickering 'neon' signals the Darklighter bar and VR center as the heroes approach. /*I think I sense the Force signatures of our contacts...*/ he begins, then feels a strange, low-level ripple. "Hey, nice armor," a raspy voice says to Roland mockingly. Over two dozen youths of varying species, mostly human but with a mix of Rodian (Greedo's species) and Zabrak (Maul's people) in the gang, stream out of the alleys to (try to) surround the heroes. "I'll take it." Roland's clearly been practicing his menacing looks, given the previous encounter and his reaction now. He replies with a smile that could cut carbonite and a gaze that could freeze plasma. "Funny. You don't _look_ suicidal." It doesn't take telepathy to see his satisfaction at how quickly and completely his reply takes the bravado out of the /*So what do you folx say? Talk our way past, or sharpen our swords on these thugs, metaphorically speaking of course? Keep it brief; I don't want our contacts wondering where we've gone, and these punks look ready to make the decision for us.*/ (OOC: Let's also not spend several days having a few seconds worth of telepathic debate on the issue, either. *g*) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Sat, 12 Mar 2005 08:56:30 -0800 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012415 >On Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:26:33 -0800 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012413 > > /*So what do you folx say? Talk our way past, or sharpen our >swords on these thugs, metaphorically speaking of course? Keep it >brief; I don't want our contacts wondering where we've gone, and >these punks look ready to make the decision for us.*/ *Heh. Betcha credits to navy beans I can get 'em running.* As the rest of the group suddenly realizes that they haven't seen the Bard since disembarking, there is a tooth-twisting whine from one of the alleys and a large, clawed hand reaches out to grab one punk by the scruff of the neck and hurl him bodily into another punk. The owner of the hand steps into the light: a Togorian* wearing a combat jumpsuit, carrying a 5-foot vibroblade casually in one hand. He turns to the lead punk and snarls in badly accented Basic "you mess with him, you mess with me." *Togorians are even bigger than Wookies. And, to paraphrase Talon Karrde, "don't shoot them. Blaster fire only makes them mad." =========================== Subject: FD: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Sun, 13 Mar 2005 02:33:00 -0000 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012417 >On Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:26:33 -0800 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012413 > > "{We're passing through their magnetic field,}" Roland reports >from the cockpit of the Slingshot, as the CAoL unit heads for the >reality storm on the edge of the Galactic Empire's realm. The >speakers crackle with static as the Champion forces the craft to obey >his commands. "{Hold tight!}" Moonstone, who'd been sitting quietly, suddenly lurched to her feet, looking panicked. "Oh boy, not another reality problem." Scales suddenly shimmered over her features as her fingers started to form claws. She looked around the cramped compartment desperately, then bolted into the cargo hold, slamming the door behind her. A roar not unlike Godzilla shook the walls, followed by a human curse, "Damn that hur--Agh!" then a shriek that would put a velociraptor to shame. Moonstone started muttering, first human, then dragon, then human, then dragon again. Inside the cargo hold, Moonstone had shifted wildly between her human and native dragon form. She'd curled into as small a ball as she could as her mind raced for a solution. Her native magic and the new realm had had an unexpected disagreement on whether or not they were going to accept a dragon disquised as a human by magical means. And as her dragon form was large enough to qualify her as a beast, she felt her intellect slipping away. In Middle Earth, with high magic and intelligent dragons, she'd almost dismissed the possibility of turning evil as the dragons in that world were. Here, with no magic outside the Force, her human form was refusing to stay put on general incompatibility principles. And her dragon form was refusing to stay sentient, at least from the standpoint of being in control of even simple reason. "Motherrrrrr, you sssssaid to ohhhhnly do thisssssss in em-urrrrgensssssssseeeeeessss." "Fates protect this humble soul from forces far beyond control, while chaos reigns, I bid conspire to guide this one safely through your fire." Moonstone's true dragon form finally won the battle, still curled into a tight ball, but as she started to unwind, with an inhuman snarl, she began shimmering with a pale blue-white light that consumed her whole form. From outside, Moonstone can be heard to call, "Fine! I am--eep! Uhm. Unexpected, this is. Heh. Mom did say to only use that one when you didn't care what happened as long as you survived it intact." A moment later the cargo door opened. What emerged wasn't human or dragon. Instead, it was very pale green, almost white, with Moonstone's cobalt blue eyes and curly white hair that hung down her back when she threw back the blue hood that had been hiding long, pointed ears. Overall, the alien wasn't much more than a foot and a half tall. The voice gave her away as Moonstone, however. "I'd say 'No jokes, or you get this,'" she said, drawing a pale blue lightsaber from the spot her blaster had been, "'Where the sun doesn't shine,' but... funny as hell, I find this." Moonstone grabbed onto the doorframe as the ship bucked again. "I think I'd better sit down," she remarked, then leapt over the back of her seat like she was leaping onto the back of a horse, dropped into it and fastened her seatbelt. She may look somewhat like a younger Yoda, but she certainly had more energy than he usually displayed. > The Eternal's fingers dance across the console one more time as >the ship makes final approach. He pauses as an anomaly appears on the >scanners. "What the nass...?" A gesture summons a tiny holographic >image. Another magnifies it. Roland groans. /*Okay, team, we're >coming in for a landing, and we have clearance, but there's a >techno-demon on site inspecting ships. Fortunately, it seems to be >'just' a winged cyborg Dark Jedi now instead of having the full >complement of Tharkoldu powers. We should be all right...but you know >where the fighter bays are, just in case.*/ The massive wheels touch >down as the ship lands and turns gracefully to head towards a hangar. /Something says me and that meeting isn't a good idea,/ Moonstone said, already not in sight. She was actually scrambling under the deck and making her way down through the mechanism for the landing gear. > /*Quick reminder, if things go to the Abyss, we're to meet our two >contacts at the Darklighter in the Old Quarter.*/ The team can feel >his mind flicker -- probably his ESP -- before he continues. /*Of >course, the 'Old Quarter' looks only five thousand years ahead of us >instead of ten thousand, but you've all seen the holos. Cross your >fingers.*/ With that, he gathers his identicards and strides toward >the hatch. /Darklighter, check,/ Moonstone said, dropping to the ground near one of the landing gear. Impossibly, she seemed to disappear into the crowd of working stiffs as if they didn't see her. /Ah, mindspells still work here, figures. May the farce be with you, always./ -- Moonstone ("Now if only my appetite had shrunk to match my size. Waiter, three more plates of Rancor roast, please.") =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Sun, 13 Mar 2005 16:03:17 -0800 (PST) Driscoll Said As CAoL Message # 00012420 >On Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:26:33 -0800 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012413 > > "Geez, I haven't seen one'a them since the Clone Wars..." the >technician gulps as the droid vanishes behind the closing hatch and >the group walks on. Drilea looks about the Landing pad with a highly disinterested look on her face as they group gets ready to leave. The slight twitch of her anttenae being the only indication otherwise. Her gaze never needs to look over towards the squads of Tie Fighters standing ready on the pad for her to notice them with her mind. She visits each one for a nanosecond only, communicating with a targetting computer here, a navigation computer there, convincing them that left is right and freind would be foe and all manner of little thin that should be easily missed, until the fighters have to be used in battle of course. She spins about as Roland activates the droid, her hair flaring out with the spin in unison with the pale blue skirt of her dress. She rests her hand on her hip, fingertips just barely able to feel the body armor underneath the beige jacket she wears, "Can we go already?" Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she stalks off, heels of her high heeled boots clicking against the ground as she goes. > /*So what do you folx say? Talk our way past, or sharpen our >swords on these thugs, metaphorically speaking of course? Keep it >brief; I don't want our contacts wondering where we've gone, and >these punks look ready to make the decision for us.*/ Drilea's eyes grow wide with fear at the sight of the crowd and her hand slowly moves down tot he holster at her belt, opening it up and drawing out her pistol carefully, "PLease.. we don't want any trouble..." she whispers with a trembling voice as she ovvers the heavy blaster to a greedo butt first on a shaking hand, "W-we... we just need to get by..." Her mind slips into the pistol again, riding the energy systems to the rangefinder and causing it to send out its invisible beam over her shoulder. She it reaches a target close enough to be one of the thugs behind her, her thumb slips into the triggergard of the weapon, "Oh screw this, I never played the shrinking violet type too well." She mutters as the thumb pushes the trigger, sending a blast of ionic energy into the head of the thug directly behind her. The jolt of the discarge shifts the gun in her hand and she moves her hand to help it as it spins aroudn tot he greedo she was offering the pistol to, the barrel coming in line with those bug eyes now. Another shot squeels out of the gun, making a nice blackened tunnel where once at least a small brain used to reside. She quickly looks around, pistol at the ready now, trying to see any there's any other idiots who need to learn not to accost a young lady on the street. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Mon, 14 Mar 2005 01:54:16 -0000 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012421 >On Sat, 12 Mar 2005 08:56:30 -0800 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012415 > >*Heh. Betcha credits to navy beans I can get 'em running.* As the >rest of the group suddenly realizes that they haven't seen the Bard >since disembarking, there is a tooth-twisting whine from one of the >alleys and a large, clawed hand reaches out to grab one punk by the >scruff of the neck and hurl him bodily into another punk. The owner >of the hand steps into the light: a Togorian* wearing a combat >jumpsuit, carrying a 5-foot vibroblade casually in one hand. He turns >to the lead punk and snarls in badly accented Basic "you mess with >him, you mess with me." Then... >On Sun, 13 Mar 2005 16:03:17 -0800 (PST) >Driscoll Said As CAoL Message # 00012420 > > Drilea's eyes grow wide with fear at the sight of the crowd and her >hand slowly moves down tot he holster at her belt, opening it up and >drawing out her pistol carefully, "PLease.. we don't want any >trouble..." she whispers with a trembling voice as she ovvers the >heavy blaster to a greedo butt first on a shaking hand, "W-we... we >just need to get by..." > Her mind slips into the pistol again, riding the energy systems to >the rangefinder and causing it to send out its invisible beam over >her shoulder. She it reaches a target close enough to be one of the >thugs behind her, her thumb slips into the triggergard of the weapon, >"Oh screw this, I never played the shrinking violet type too well." >She mutters as the thumb pushes the trigger, sending a blast of ionic >energy into the head of the thug directly behind her. The jolt of the >discarge shifts the gun in her hand and she moves her hand to help it >as it spins aroudn tot he greedo she was offering the pistol to, the >barrel coming in line with those bug eyes now. Another shot squeels >out of the gun, making a nice blackened tunnel where once at least a >small brain used to reside. > She quickly looks around, pistol at the ready now, trying to see >any there's any other idiots who need to learn not to accost a young >lady on the street. "The wrong crew you've picked to bother, yes." the diminutive cloaked figure says from behind the gang, as a lightsaber illuminates Moonstone's concealed features in a blue-white cast not unlike her normal dragon scales. "A warning shot that was," she adds, as the gang of thugs try and process this new information, "Now, violent shall we get?" OOC: Just a meager aid to continuity. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... (fwd) On Mon, 14 Mar 2005 17:07:55 -0800 (PST) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012423 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012415 > >*Heh. Betcha credits to navy beans I can get 'em running.* As the >rest of the group suddenly realizes that they haven't seen the Bard >since disembarking, there is a tooth-twisting whine from one of the >alleys and a large, clawed hand reaches out to grab one punk by the >scruff of the neck and hurl him bodily into another punk. The owner >of the hand steps into the light: a Togorian* wearing a combat >jumpsuit, carrying a 5-foot vibroblade casually in one hand. He turns >to the lead punk and snarls in badly accented Basic, "you mess with >him, you mess with me." Rob picks up the cue, pulling out a small paper bag. "Ten jelly babies says you can't throw all these guys farther than you did the last one." Some of the gang members back off, halfway to remembering that they've forgotten to wind their landspeeder, or something like that, when... >Driscoll Said As CAoL Message # 00012420 > > "Oh screw this, I never played the shrinking violet type too well," >Drilea mutters as her thumb pushes the trigger, sending a blast of >ionic energy into the head of the thug directly behind her. The jolt >of the discharge shifts the gun in her hand and she moves her hand to >help it as it spins around to the greedo she was offering the pistol >to, the barrel coming in line with those bug eyes now. Another shot >squeels out of the gun, making a nice blackened tunnel where once at >least a small brain used to reside. Rob drops the jelly babies back in his pocket, and shifts his stance slightly. /Roland, if we can't avoid a stupid fight, how about a plan where you break out of the melee and meet the contact while the rest of us deal with the Moron Brigade?/ =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Tue, 15 Mar 2005 14:10:50 -0800 Patrick O'Shea Said As CAoL Message # 00012424 >On Mon, 14 Mar 2005 01:54:16 -0000 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012421 > > "The wrong crew you've picked to bother, yes." the diminutive >cloaked figure says from behind the gang, as a lightsaber illuminates >Moonstone's concealed features in a blue-white cast not unlike her >normal dragon scales. > "A warning shot that was," she adds, as the gang of thugs try and >process this new information, "Now, violent shall we get?" OOC: Sorry for the lag; have to share the internet connection with a teacher-to-be (my darling sister, who hits harder than me :-) /Or not./ Quiet Moon lets slip, softly chanting the words to a Brotherhood spell. Fixing his eyes on the nearest thug... "We're not the marks you're looking for." The eyes glaze over. "You're not the marks we're looking for." "The Hutt with the 10 Gammorean guards is a much easier target." [I hope I'm getting this right], he thinks. Alpha Thug nods. "The Hutt with the 10 Gammorean guards is a much easier target." "We can go on about our business." "You can go along about your business." Smiling idiotically and fingering a high-tech zip gun, said thug wanders off, making a beeline for the large green crimelord down the street... Patrick O'Shea --Ironically, the Hutt with the 10 Gammorean guards IS an easier target, considering this crowd... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Tue, 15 Mar 2005 20:35:45 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012425 >On Sat, 12 Mar 2005 08:56:30 -0800 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012415 > >*Heh. Betcha credits to navy beans I can get 'em running.* As the >rest of the group suddenly realizes that they haven't seen the Bard >since disembarking, there is a tooth-twisting whine from one of the >alleys and a large, clawed hand reaches out to grab one punk by the >scruff of the neck and hurl him bodily into another punk. The owner >of the hand steps into the light: a Togorian* wearing a combat >jumpsuit, carrying a 5-foot vibroblade casually in one hand. He turns >to the lead punk and snarls in badly accented Basic "you mess with >him, you mess with me." Then >On Sun, 13 Mar 2005 16:03:17 -0800 (PST) >Driscoll Said As CAoL Message # 00012420 > >"Oh screw this, I never played the shrinking violet type too well." >She mutters as the thumb pushes the trigger, sending a blast of ionic >energy into the head of the thug directly behind her. The jolt of the >discarge shifts the gun in her hand and she moves her hand to help it >as it spins aroudn tot he greedo she was offering the pistol to, the >barrel coming in line with those bug eyes now. Another shot squeels >out of the gun, making a nice blackened tunnel where once at least a >small brain used to reside. Then... >On Mon, 14 Mar 2005 01:54:16 -0000 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012421 > > "The wrong crew you've picked to bother, yes." the diminutive >cloaked figure says from behind the gang, as a lightsaber illuminates >Moonstone's concealed features in a blue-white cast not unlike her >normal dragon scales. > "A warning shot that was," she adds, as the gang of thugs try and >process this new information, "Now, violent shall we get?" Then... >On Mon, 14 Mar 2005 17:07:55 -0800 (PST) >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012423 > > Rob picks up the cue, pulling out a small paper bag. "Ten jelly >babies says you can't throw all these guys farther than you did the >last one." > Some of the gang members back off, halfway to remembering that >they've forgotten to wind their landspeeder, or something like that, > Rob drops the jelly babies back in his pocket, and shifts his >stance slightly. /Roland, if we can't avoid a stupid fight, how about >a plan where you break out of the melee and meet the contact while >the rest of us deal with the Moron Brigade?/ 'Captain' Roland psychically sends Rob a friendly grin, the carbonite-slicing smile still fixed on Alpha Thug. /Wait for it.../ _Then_... >On Tue, 15 Mar 2005 14:10:50 -0800 >Patrick O'Shea Said As CAoL Message # 00012424 > >Quiet Moon lets slip, softly chanting the words to a Brotherhood >spell. Fixing his eyes on the nearest thug... > >"We're not the marks you're looking for." > >The eyes glaze over. "You're not the marks we're looking for." > >"The Hutt with the 10 Gammorean guards is a much easier target." [I >hope I'm getting this right], he thinks. > >Alpha Thug nods. "The Hutt with the 10 Gammorean guards is a much >easier target." > >"We can go on about our business." > >"You can go along about your business." Smiling idiotically and >fingering a high-tech zip gun, said thug wanders off, making a >beeline for the large green crimelord down the street... There is a pause as the remaining thugs witness this rampant display of potential (and kinetic) energy. As one, they scream and bolt. Only her mastery of Life skills keeps Morgan from chuckling, if not laughing outright. Roland shakes his head and sighs, though the smile broadens and warms. "They just don't make gangs like they used to." He chuckles. /I'd've sent a warning with one of them to make sure none of the other local thugs mess with us, but I just _know_ that by the time word spreads, we'll be up to our armpits in Stormtroopers and techno-demons./ With that, Roland enters the Darklighter, Morgan (and presumably the rest of the team) in tow. A solicitous-looking humanoid with two tapering tail-like lengths of flesh flowing from the back of her head instead of hair bows to the group, but before she says anything, Roland hands her a card. "The usual," he mutters, doing a surprisingly accurate simulation of a character with 'extra-legal' activities being discreet. "Of course, Captain Jameson," she replies smoothly, guiding the CAoLers to a large table in the corner (not a booth, though, and with seats of several sizes to fit everyone from the Yoda-oid to the Polar Lion) where two gentlemen already sit. She hands out menus and retreats. 'Captain Jameson' gestures to a couple of characters (OOC: I'm taking volunteers now; he would have asked earlier) to stand guard over the 'transaction.' Those familiar with the universe circa the last decades before the fall of the Old Republic, and characters from realities where Star Wars is popular entertainment, easily recognizes the pair as two people who should _not_ be here. Or together at these ages, for that matter. Both wear hooded cloaks, with otherwise mundane, beat-up garb underneath. Those with the senses to feel them, however, can detect devices on their belts that are rather the opposite of mundane. "Big place, this 'Darklighter,'" Roland mutters. "Yet small enough to be welcome," the older gentleman, a Liam Neeson lookalike with graying temples and beard, replies softly yet smoothly. "Should you be wandering around with that face on, old friend?" the Eternal asks, not quite suppressing a grin. "I tried to tell him," his young companion, who doesn't look quite as much like Hayden Christensen as his mentor does like Mr. Neeson, says with a chuckle and a shrug. "As you have informed me, 'Captain Jameson,' I am thirty years dead by the Empire's reckoning. I suspect even the few who might recognize the man I was would not now, save perhaps my old pupil." Qui-Gon smiles. "I do not consider him a security risk." There is a distant halo of light behind Qui-Gon, just for a fraction of a second, and the twinkling eyes of 'old Ben Kenobi' wink at the group. Then the image is gone. "So, how's Shmi doing?" Morgan asks, a twinkle in her eye. Qui-Gon looks somewhere between pleased and embarrassed. Anakin seems about ready to lick cream off his whiskers. "We are engaged." Roland's eyes almost pop out. "You -- that's -- great! -- but -- the Council -- I thought..." "The Living -- ah, my movement has gained strength since I took Anakin as my...pupil." Qui-Gon nods to himself, clearly choosing his words carefully due to the environment. "We have been sequestered for too long. Our leader," he continues, his head inclining subtly toward Moonstone, "does not exactly approve, but he does see the potential benefits, and believes the experiment worth the danger. The rot in _our_ government nearly destroyed us, and our order was blind to it." "It is time for us to become a part of the galaxy rather than apart from it," Anakin adds passionately. "I'm not surprised you approve," Roland replies with a knowing grin. Anakin blushes to do his 'uncle' proud. "I'd rather he showed _some_ patience," Qui-Gon says fondly. "I'd rather she stayed on Naboo," young Skywalker mutters. "She's _here?_" Roland blurts, voice raising briefly. A few stares are met with icy daggers from the immortal's eyes, and Darklighter patrons go back about their business. "If there is a point in the universe that is safest to be, Padme tries to be in the place farthest from it," Anakin grumbles mutinously. "So, how's Caitlin?" Qui-Gon asks smoothly. It was Morgan's turn to grin slightly. "Fine, though I'm not sure what she'll make of your news. She still hasn't quite gotten used to how _much_ you resemble her Da." Qui-Gon smiles enigmatically, while Anakin can hold his patience no longer. "What is the plan?" he asks, leaning forward. "Do you have the schematics?" Roland replies, gazing intently at the young Jedi. Anakin grins proudly, reaches into one loose sleeve, and withdraws a data chip. "These 'Imperials' aren't used to dealing with...people like us." "People like you are...very rare, more's the pity," Morgan replies softly. Roland looks distant. "That advantage won't last much longer. Thratchen's here." Qui-Gon nods, his expression deeply thoughtful. Morgan is reminded keenly of her grandfather. "The 'techno-demons,' yes." He frowns. "Alas, it gets worse. While the Emperor has apparently kept the true secrets of the Sith to himself, he has been training his Royal Guards in Dark Jedi arts. I hear rumors, dark rumors, of training grounds that slaughter candidates by the dozen before the prospective students even know what they are being considered for." Roland's neck twitches. "Switch," he whispers. Vocally, he begins to haggle over the price of the data chip. Meanwhile, he mentally brings Qui-Gon and Anakin into the link. /*The schematics,*/ Roland explains to his fellow Callahanians, /*are for the Emperor's palace in New Delhi, where the land-bound portion of the Maelstrom Bridge touches this world. Since our best efforts never seem to get us anywhere other than a gigantic final battle in the heart of the villain's power, I figured we'd cut right to the chase.*/ He grins, then pauses, psychic senses probing as he thinks. OOC: None of you think it'll be that easy, right? Good. /*There's a rebel cell on the outskirts of town,*/ Qui-Gon informs them as his mind adjusts to the link. /*We have not met them face to face as of yet, but their information has been completely reliable. They also have a rather nondescript transport we can take. The pilot is reluctant to accompany us further than the New Delhi starport, but the others intend to assist us. From there we -- aw, nass.*/ Five techno-demons walk into a bar... /*Master Qui-Gon, is there a rear exit?*/ Roland asks with swift efficiency. If he is concerned, the Champion does not show it (except to Morgan). /*This is a seedy bar on the 'wrong side of the stacks,' Roland.*/ /*'Tracks.'*/ /*Not on Coruscant. Regardless,*/ Qui-Gon replies, /*there are five different methods of discreet exit that do not require breaking windows.*/ /*If we must flee, you two go out exit two, my group will leave through exit four, and we'll meet back at the Slingshot, agreed?*/ The two Jedi nod as the techno-demons split up. This being a cinematic universe, the largest, ugliest, and nastiest-looking of the Tharkoldu walks up to the table hosting the Callahanians and the Jedi. "You are," the demon demands. "Captain Jameson and crew, from the 'Shotput,'" Roland lies smoothly. "Can we help you?" "Your business." Morgan leans back with a relaxed look, her hands clearly visible, but within easy reach of all the equipment on her belt. Including that seemingly nondescript dagger. "A simple transaction, money for data." The Tharkoldu snorts. "What data?" 'Jameson' smiles cunningly. "It is always wise to know what the competition is up to, when one supplies parts to the Imperial Fleet." The cybernetic demon snorts again and turns to leave...then begins sniffing the air, like some hellish cat scenting prey. Its nostrils flare wide as he breathes in again, twice. With lightning-quick suddenness, it rips Anakin's cloak aside, revealing his lightsaber. The demon leans its face right next to the opening in Anakin's hood. "Explain." "Collector's item," Anakin says with a gulp. The demon growls... -- Evil GM-San Ain't I a stinker? ;^) (Oh yeah, and some characters named Roland and Morgan. ) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Wed, 16 Mar 2005 22:42:56 -0800 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012433 >On Tue, 15 Mar 2005 20:35:45 -0800 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012425 > > There is a pause as the remaining thugs witness this rampant >display of potential (and kinetic) energy. > As one, they scream and bolt. The Togorian's only response to this is a disdainful snort at the thugs' retreating backsides. > "Of course, Captain Jameson," she replies smoothly, guiding the >CAoLers to a large table in the corner (not a booth, though, and with >seats of several sizes to fit everyone from the Yoda-oid to the Polar >Lion) where two gentlemen already sit. She hands out menus and >retreats. 'Captain Jameson' gestures to a couple of characters (OOC: >I'm taking volunteers now; he would have asked earlier) to stand >guard over the 'transaction.' The Togorian excuses himself to go to the little (?!) alien's room. > "A simple transaction, money for data." > The Tharkoldu snorts. "What data?" > 'Jameson' smiles cunningly. "It is always wise to know what the >competition is up to, when one supplies parts to the Imperial Fleet." > The cybernetic demon snorts again and turns to leave...then begins >sniffing the air, like some hellish cat scenting prey. Its nostrils >flare wide as he breathes in again, twice. With lightning-quick >suddenness, it rips Anakin's cloak aside, revealing his lightsaber. >The demon leans its face right next to the opening in Anakin's hood. >"Explain." > "Collector's item," Anakin says with a gulp. The demon growls... Harlock's voice pipes up from behind the techno-demon. "An explanation _would_ be nice, at that. What _are_ these dohickeys?" The techno-demon turns to see the Bard handling a lightsaber with a quizzical expression on his face. It reaches for its belt and yanks out...a large salami. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Thu, 17 Mar 2005 10:28:10 -0800 (PST) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012434 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012433 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012425 >> >> There is a pause as the remaining thugs witness this rampant >>display of potential (and kinetic) energy. >> As one, they scream and bolt. > >The Togorian's only response to this is a disdainful snort at the >thugs' retreating backsides. Rob looks at the fleeing thugs, pulls out the bag of jelly babies, and hands ten of them to the alien. "Let's call it a tie." > >> "Of course, Captain Jameson," she replies smoothly, guiding the >>CAoLers to a large table in the corner (not a booth, though, and >>with seats of several sizes to fit everyone from the Yoda-oid to the >>Polar Lion) where two gentlemen already sit. She hands out menus and >>retreats. 'Captain Jameson' gestures to a couple of characters (OOC: >>I'm taking volunteers now; he would have asked earlier) to stand >>guard over the 'transaction.' As the rest of the crew settles in, Rob sets himself in guard position, taking a moment to make sure that everything in his jacket is still there. [Not that I expect to need everything, but...] >> /*If we must flee, you two go out exit two, my group will leave >>through exit four, and we'll meet back at the Slingshot, agreed?*/ >>The two Jedi nod as the techno-demons split up. This being a >>cinematic universe, the largest, ugliest, and nastiest-looking of >>the Tharkoldu walks up to the table hosting the Callahanians and the >>Jedi. As the cyborg passes by, Rob barely notices the flicker of light fingers which he recognizes as a pickpocket. [Damn...he's -good-.] >> The cybernetic demon snorts again and turns to leave...then >>begins sniffing the air, like some hellish cat scenting prey. Its >>nostrils flare wide as he breathes in again, twice. With >>lightning-quick suddenness, it rips Anakin's cloak aside, revealing >>his lightsaber. The demon leans its face right next to the opening >>in Anakin's hood. "Explain." >> "Collector's item," Anakin says with a gulp. The demon growls... > >Harlock's voice pipes up from behind the techno-demon. "An >explanation _would_ be nice, at that. What _are_ these dohickeys?" >The techno-demon turns to see the Bard handling a lightsaber with a >quizzical expression on his face. It reaches for its belt and yanks >out...a large salami. Rob replies, "I don't know, but you can get them in pawnshops if you look carefully," as he flips a lightsaber from hand to hand before "disappearing" it with a magician's flourish. [Distraction, misdirection, and bluff. And the juggler's toss should have hidden the "Made in Taiwan" stamp.] =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9S: Slingshot On Fri, 18 Mar 2005 10:08:24 -0500 David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012435 >On Fri, 11 Mar 2005 00:06:58 -0800 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As FD.CAoL Message # 00000447 > >>On Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:26:33 -0800 >>Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012413 >> >> /*So what do you folx say? Talk our way past, or sharpen our >>swords on these thugs, metaphorically speaking of course? Keep it >>brief; I don't want our contacts wondering where we've gone, and >>these punks look ready to make the decision for us.*/ > >*Heh. Betcha credits to navy beans I can get 'em running.* As the >rest of the group suddenly realizes that they haven't seen the Bard >since disembarking, there is a tooth-twisting whine from one of the >alleys and a large, clawed hand reaches out to grab one punk by the >scruff of the neck and hurl him bodily into another punk. The owner >of the hand steps into the light: a Togorian* wearing a combat >jumpsuit, carrying a 5-foot vibroblade casually in one hand. He turns >to the lead punk and snarls in badly accented Basic "you mess with >him, you mess with me." "I doubt that any... *violence* will be required," remarks a new (and familiar) voice from the same darkness from which the Togorian emerged in an offhand tone. A new figure eases silently up to the very edge of the shadows, seeming almost to materialize in place. The newcomer is tall and well-built, wearing a serviceable but clean grey working-spacer's jumpsuit (with lots of pockets) beneath a somewhat worn high-quality hooded traveler's cloak, with the hood up and thrown back on one side to reveal a plain low-riding hip holster. The gun and rig both look comfortably worn, but still scream "high quality" and "custom." "After all," the newcomer continues amiably, "dealing with bloodstains and questions is such an unecessary aggravation. I'm quite certain we are all just as eager to avoid such... unpleasantness as these young sentients are." The tone of voice is level, pleasant, even easygoing, but the air temperature seems to drop several degrees. The light penetrates beneath his hood just enough to gleam faintly off teeth that could be smiling, or snarling, or... other things. OOC: There's Jedi mind tricks, and then there's plain old psychological warfare. Have no fear, Grephnix is here! (:) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Out of The Sandtrap, Into The Force Part 3 On Fri, 18 Mar 2005 19:04:31 -0800 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012436 OOC: Trying to catch up on and finish off this thread... >On Mon, 28 Feb 2005 02:50:17 -0500 >Dr. Energy Said As CAoL Message # 00012410 > >Aside from the ice damage to the power lines, there were no >fatalities. Romanov breathed a sigh of relief as he learned the Imam >was unharmed. He had heard the commotion, and hid in his office but >not before calling the police. The police in turn called the army, >since they were better equipped to handle metahuman troubles than >your average flatfoot on the street. After finally exchanging >pleasantries with the Imam, Romanov noticed that newer equipment was >being used by the soldiers and they bore the distinctive mark of Nova >Valdoria. > >He remarked, "So when exactly did Nova Valdoria start working with >Egypt?" "During the invasion," the officer in charge replied reluctantly, "we found that only Des...Zerstoiten's forces were able to stand up to Mobius' weird science. I mean Ultra-Science," he corrected, realizing to whom he was speaking. " >Suddenly there is a delicate sound of thunder as the BORIS One comes >in for a landing on the tarmac outside the entrance. The hatch opens >whereupon The Good Doctor and The Platinum Princess make their way >down the gangplank. They march right in and take a seat that's >available. "Sorry for the lateness of my arrival, friend Roland, but >I was delayed in Cairo by unfinished business involving a certain >Snowman. I doubt I have seen the last of him, but for now, I have >bigger concerns. Like where can I find a glass of hot chai to drive >the chill from my bones, for starters." said Romanov with a wry grin. Jeffries is at his side literally three seconds later, chai in hand (or rather, on tray). Even Roland boggles. "How does he _do_ that?" he mutters. Jeffries merely smiles enigmatically... >Romanov speaks up, "I believe that Anna and I would like to accompany >those going to the Empire. I believe there is a certain Imam who owes >me a favor, and I doubt that the Celestial Chorus would want to lose >one of their prize mosques in Ahmedabad." >"I have one request, however. According to your mission reports," he >said, "you helped defeat the Empire in another realm different from >this cognate. I think it would behoove us to have a native guide of a >sort to train those of us not familiar in the ways of The Force. I >have had limited experience with this, but it sounds like just >another form of energy. Anna, however, is not so gifted and could use >training. Do you know of anyone in particular who could help?" Roland grins. "Our contacts in Hyderabad should be able to help you with that. They know...a thing or two about the Force." His smile fades away. "But do not mistake the Force for 'just another form of energy.' I've been there, and it's...alive, somehow. I can't describe it better than that, but the Force is life and spirit and will and power all at once, yet both more and less than all that...all at once yet none at all..." he shakes his head. "Imagine if the Akashic Brotherhood, Dreamspeakers, and Sons of Ether all got together to create a living paradigm and infused it in the world's Prime. That's the Force, after a fashion. Then imagine the Nephandi polluting it and that's the Dark Side." The Eternal shrugs. "The Force doesn't lend itself to easy descriptions or easy answers. Just some friendly advice." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Fri, 18 Mar 2005 19:28:52 -0800 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012437 >On Sun, 13 Mar 2005 02:33:00 -0000 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012417 >>On Thu, 10 Mar 2005 23:26:33 -0800 >>Morgan and Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012413 >> >> "{We're passing through their magnetic field,}" Roland reports >>from the cockpit of the Slingshot, as the CAoL unit heads for the >>reality storm on the edge of the Galactic Empire's realm. The >>speakers crackle with static as the Champion forces the craft to >>obey his commands. "{Hold tight!}" > > Moonstone, who'd been sitting quietly, suddenly lurched to her >feet, looking panicked. > "Oh boy, not another reality problem." > Scales suddenly shimmered over her features as her fingers started >to form claws. She looked around the cramped compartment desperately, >then bolted into the cargo hold, slamming the door behind her. > A roar not unlike Godzilla shook the walls, followed by a human >curse, "Damn that hur--Agh!" then a shriek that would put a >velociraptor to shame. Moonstone started muttering, first human, then >dragon, then human, then dragon again. {Moonstone?!} Roland cries, reaching out with his powers to at least figure out what's going on. Unfortunately, trying to examine the local paradigm in a reality storm is a lot like looking right into a strobe light just as it turns on -- blinding and disorienting to no good effect. With a grim shake of his head, the immortal turns his focus back to piloting. > From outside, Moonstone can be heard to call, "Fine! I am--eep! >Uhm. Unexpected, this is. Heh. Mom did say to only use that one when >you didn't care what happened as long as you survived it intact." ['Unexpected, this is?'] Roland wonders, a sinking feeling accompanying a strong suspicion about what happened to the dragon. "Somehow, I don't think she just became Pennsylvania Dutch," Morgan quips. > A moment later the cargo door opened. What emerged wasn't human or >dragon. Instead, it was very pale green, almost white, with >Moonstone's cobalt blue eyes and curly white hair that hung down her >back when she threw back the blue hood that had been hiding long, >pointed ears. Overall, the alien wasn't much more than a foot and a >half tall. The voice gave her away as Moonstone, however. > "I'd say 'No jokes, or you get this,'" she said, drawing a pale >blue lightsaber from the spot her blaster had been, "'Where the sun >doesn't shine,' but... funny as hell, I find this." ^_Definitely_ not Pennsylvania Dutch,^ Morgan adds privately. ^You think?^ Roland replies dryly. More publicly, he says, "As long as it won't be...um, overly limiting." "If you want help changing back, though, and if you think I can be any help, just ask," Morgan replies more seriously. > Moonstone grabbed onto the doorframe as the ship bucked again. > "I think I'd better sit down," she remarked, then leapt over the >back of her seat like she was leaping onto the back of a horse, >dropped into it and fastened her seatbelt. She may look somewhat like >a younger Yoda, but she certainly had more energy than he usually >displayed. OOC: Except when he's being the Vorpal Hamster, yes? ;^) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9S: Slingshot On Fri, 18 Mar 2005 21:04:55 -0800 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012439 >On Fri, 18 Mar 2005 10:08:24 -0500 >David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012435 > > "I doubt that any... *violence* will be required," remarks a new >(and familiar) voice from the same darkness from which the Togorian >emerged in an offhand tone. A new figure eases silently up to the >very edge of the shadows, seeming almost to materialize in place. The >newcomer is tall and well-built, wearing a serviceable but clean grey >working-spacer's jumpsuit (with lots of pockets) beneath a somewhat >worn high-quality hooded traveler's cloak, with the hood up and >thrown back on one side to reveal a plain low-riding hip holster. The >gun and rig both look comfortably worn, but still scream "high >quality" and "custom." > "After all," the newcomer continues amiably, "dealing with >bloodstains and questions is such an unecessary aggravation. I'm >quite certain we are all just as eager to avoid such... >unpleasantness as these young sentients are." The tone of voice is >level, pleasant, even easygoing, but the air temperature seems to >drop several degrees. The light penetrates beneath his hood just >enough to gleam faintly off teeth that could be smiling, or snarling, >or... other things. As mentioned, goons run screaming. This...helps. If 'help' is the right word. ;^) "Rogus," 'Captain Jameson' replies, "good to see you again." Morgan sends a maternal hug across the link as Roland continues. /Anything we should be updated on?/ he adds, outwardly taking on the sauntering arrogance of a ship's captain who's connections let him get away with murder. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9s: Slingshot... On Sat, 19 Mar 2005 08:10:20 -0000 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012441 >On Fri, 18 Mar 2005 19:28:52 -0800 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012437 >>On Sun, 13 Mar 2005 02:33:00 -0000 >>Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012417 > > {Moonstone?!} Roland cries, reaching out with his powers to at >least figure out what's going on. Unfortunately, trying to examine >the local paradigm in a reality storm is a lot like looking right >into a strobe light just as it turns on -- blinding and disorienting >to no good effect. With a grim shake of his head, the immortal turns >his focus back to piloting. *Humanformsmagicbased (kill) wantstodispel {burn} dragonform-animal {feed} gotaspellfix {rage} Ithink-casting.* >> "I'd say 'No jokes, or you get this,'" she said, drawing a pale >>blue lightsaber from the spot her blaster had been, "'Where the sun >>doesn't shine,' but... funny as hell, I find this." > >^_Definitely_ not Pennsylvania Dutch,^ Morgan adds privately. > > ^You think?^ Roland replies dryly. More publicly, he says, "As >long as it won't be...um, overly limiting." "Seen you have Episode Two?" Moonstone asks with a grin, "Judge me by my size, do you?" >"If you want help changing back, though, and if you think I can be >any help, just ask," Morgan replies more seriously. Moonstone shook her head, "This form will dispel as soon as we leave, it's not permenant. Or until Lucas creates a Rancor that uses the Force like a Jedi, whichever comes first. My money's on us leaving." >> Moonstone grabbed onto the doorframe as the ship bucked again. >> "I think I'd better sit down," she remarked, then leapt over the >>back of her seat like she was leaping onto the back of a horse, >>dropped into it and fastened her seatbelt. She may look somewhat >>like a younger Yoda, but she certainly had more energy than he >>usually displayed. > > OOC: Except when he's being the Vorpal Hamster, yes? ;^) OOC: Precisely. ;) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9S: Slingshot [Ed. note: this post came in out of order, and has been moved here for reading clarity.] On Tue, 22 Mar 2005 11:29:49 -0800 (PST) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012449 >>On Thu, 17 Mar 2005 10:28:10 -0800 (PST) >>Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012434 >> >> Rob looks at the fleeing thugs, pulls out the bag of jelly >>babies, and hands ten of them to the alien. "Let's call it a tie." > > "As I said," the hooded figure remarks off-handedly, "violence was >hardly required." He steps fully into the light, pushing back his >hood to reveal the face of a familiar stranger: Rogas Grephnix, who >smiles at the assembled party. "Good day, everyone. I had a strong >premoniton that this would be a propitious spacetime locus at which >to rendezvous with you all -- I am happy to see that said premonition >was correct." He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "By the by, >Master Nishikawa, might you spare a jelly baby? I am afraid I missed >lunch." "I can do better than that," Rob replies, "assuming you don't mind military ration bars. Surplus from 'MPVK Enterprises.'" He hands over a pair of foil-wrapped bars. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9S: Slingshot On Mon, 21 Mar 2005 16:57:30 -0500 David McMillan Said As CAoL Message # 00012446 >Peter Eng wrote: > >>"By the by, Master Nishikawa, might you spare a jelly baby? I am >>afraid I missed lunch." >> > "I can do better than that," Rob replies, "assuming you don't mind >military ration bars. Surplus from 'MPVK Enterprises.'" He hands over >a pair of foil-wrapped bars. Grephnix accepts the bars gratefully as the group moves on towards the Darklighter. "MPVK? An oddly familiar name -- I feel certain I should recognize it." =========================== Subject: AAE9s: Doc Energy and The Temple of The Sith Part 1 On Tue, 22 Mar 2005 06:05:08 -0500 Dr. Energy Said As CAoL Message # 00012447 It was a clear morning that Friday in Ahmadabad, something that was rare these days since the Storms arrived. As the imam walked out the door of his ground-level apartment on his way to the mosque, he passed by a newly constructed UNTIL base. Due to the incursions of the Empire to the east, the city felt like Berlin before D-Day. The Fear (as Dr. Thompson would put it) and Loathing was palpable, like the early morning fog that drifted out from the river. The imam worried as he passed by a few apartment buildings where some of his parishoners lived. Many of them had families in Mumbai, so there was always someone seeking word from "Inside the Storm". For a moment, he looked to the east, and saw blue/red flashes of lightning in the clouds. His features darkened as he thought, [A pox on the Emperor and the rest of the so-called High Lords for bringing this calamity to my people.] His face began to glow as he got closer to the Sidi Saiyad mosque. [Thank the One that the mosque itself has been undamaged. There is nothing quite like stone windows anywhere.] As he approached the mosque, he could see the stylized tree with palm leaves and curling tendrils gleaming in the early day sun. It was early, but already the faithful were inside. Many of the men and women inside were already in the main hall, with looks of barely contained fear behind the veils of their eyes. The city had seen a number of disasters and wars throughout its' history, thanks to it being on the banks of the Sabarmati river and near the Sea of Arabia. Many of the ground forces of UNTIL were from the area so many of the people in the mosque that morning were still in their fatigues, some still bleary eyed from all night patrols near the Storm Border. He quietly slipped into his study, stopping to greet a few worshippers along the way. He took off his light jacket and hung it on the hook near the door. He sat down at his desk, and went through the mail. It was his own personal ritual before going down to pray. As he sorted through the various bills and junk mail, he spied a curious letter. The curious thing was not the writing, since it was typed out. What was interesting was the return address. It said: Champions Island, Earth Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a silver letter opener... Hours earlier, pre-flight to a galaxy far, far away.... Romanov was bent curiously. Not in the usual way, though those days were long past thanks to nova physiology and his Etherian training. He was bent over a holographic map of the affected area of India. He fiddled with the Palmpad and a saffron overlay appeared in the mapped out reality. /Doctor, I have finished the analyis of all known patterns and forms of energy.# "That's excellent, my friend. What have you found?" #Preliminary results are as follows: Isolating and removing all common forms of energy, I have detected a previously catalogued pattern of energy, but not in any way known on this realm.# #Hmmm. Overlay.# Suddenly, the field of saffron changed to areas of dark areas of red and patches of other colors. #What are these areas of red?# asked Romanov as he put the remains of his tea in a cylander and turned to a robot helper. "Place this in the cargo bay." #I believe this realm operates on the understanding that certain places tend to resonate specific high and low frequencies of mesmeretic energy. Cross-referencing all known materials related to the mythos of Star Wars, I have been able to discern that these areas are places that are strong in the Light and the Dark Side of the energy, commonly known as The Living Force.# Having seen all the movies himself, Romanov nodded. #Da, that is my feeling as well. My thinking leads me to believe that this energy can be detected and channeled, yes?# #Yes, although it is more prominent in individuals rather than in places. There are places that are Light and Dark Side Specific, but these are more wild places in the jungles and not in the cities. As to the application in beings, there are ways to detect it and use it, but it would require adapting to the right frequency. The only successful way for that to happen requires further analysis.# Romanov nodded, and looked up as Ana entered the control room. She had on khaki pants and a short sleeved tan shirt, and she was carrying a clipboard in one hand and a gunmetal grey suitcase in the other. She placed the suitcase on the table near the holomap and handed the clipboard to her uncle. He studied the papers on the clipboard for a moment, which was a manifest list for items they needed on the trip. "Provisions are in order. They will remain here in the BORIS when we land in Ahmedabad. I have spoken with the head of UNTIL operations in the area, and they will provide us safe passage to the Storm Border." he said softly as he turned the page over. "The weapons are listed. Well, let's see them." he said to Ana "I have been getting strange feelings from this case, Uncle. They feel familiar to me, but I can't remember where I felt them before." "That is because the crystals used to power the lightsabers are similar in structure to..." he said lovingly while pointing to where her heart would be. Ana suddenly stared off into the distance. "Uncle, there's something you should know. I have been having dreams. Strange dreams. Dreams of a temple with a bright heart, of jungles filled with strange, wonderful and terrifying things." Romanov nodded. "That is very interesting. When I transferred your brain and spinal cord to your new body, I used the crystal to power the critical systems that would keep them alive at first. The crystal was a natural pool of mesmeretic energy as well as a large power converter when linked to the star deep within you. I was told by the Dreamspeaker who gave it to me to only activate it when then time was right, and I would know when. When I powered you up before heading into The Nile Empire, I felt it was time for you to Awaken." Ana sighed, "No coincidence then that I should start having strange dreams about temples filled with light, and strange things Light and Dark just before we head into a galaxy far, far away." she said with an amused grin. Romanov grinned in return. "No, my darling niece. No coincidence at all. From what I have gathered from my Colleagues in the Lodge, there are a number of Akashaic Brotherhood temples that have been overrun by the Empire and transformed as well as a number of Euthanatos temples. What troubles me is that the Brotherhood temples have remained unchanged, since the jungle claimed them long ago. The sacred places of the Euthanatos, however, have grown darker and more menacing. And reports from those that fled say that the Empire concentrated the bulk of its' forces when they arrived to secure these locations." "In fact," he said glancing at the holomap, "there is a known Akashic Brotherhood temple just outside the city of Ahmedabad...which is just on this side of the Storm Border." As he said that, an arrow pointed to just inside the border, in the heart of what appeared to be a jungle. Ana stared at the spot where the arrow landed. "Uncle, I believe I am supposed to go to this place. I have the sense that there is something there very important, but that is all." Romanov nodded in agreement. "I suspect that is the case, since I have long ago learned not to discount the realm of dreams. There are, after all, a reflection of the Ether. Come, let us away." #Computer, open a channel to Roland Phoenix and patch it through the comm.# #Compliance. Channel open, go ahead Doctor." {What's up, Doc?} said the Eternal somewhat distractedly. (Understandable due to the pre-flight inspection and plans made at the moment) {I will be joining you and the rest of the team at the designated location, but I have decided to take a slightly different route. Ana and I will be travelling to Ahmedabad, where we will proceed to the Darklighter after a brief detour.} {Why do I have a really bad feeling about this?} said Roland in mock-exasperation. Romanov grinned, {Trust me, my Eternal friend. There have been some personal developments that need attending. Our detour won't take us too far off course, and I will arrange suitable transportation before we cross the Storm Border.} {Understood. Just be warned, Hyderabad and the Darklighter has become a wretched hive of scum and villany. Be careful, and clear skies to you both.} {May the force be with you, my friend.} quipped Romanov, switching off the comm before Roland had a chance to respond with a grin. TBC =========================== Subject: AAE9s: Doc Energy and The Temple of The Sith Part 1 On Tue, 22 Mar 2005 06:05:08 -0500 Dr. Energy Said As CAoL Message # 00012447 It was a clear morning that Friday in Ahmadabad, something that was rare these days since the Storms arrived. As the imam walked out the door of his ground-level apartment on his way to the mosque, he passed by a newly constructed UNTIL base. Due to the incursions of the Empire to the east, the city felt like Berlin before D-Day. The Fear (as Dr. Thompson would put it) and Loathing was palpable, like the early morning fog that drifted out from the river. The imam worried as he passed by a few apartment buildings where some of his parishoners lived. Many of them had families in Mumbai, so there was always someone seeking word from "Inside the Storm". For a moment, he looked to the east, and saw blue/red flashes of lightning in the clouds. His features darkened as he thought, [A pox on the Emperor and the rest of the so-called High Lords for bringing this calamity to my people.] His face began to glow as he got closer to the Sidi Saiyad mosque. [Thank the One that the mosque itself has been undamaged. There is nothing quite like stone windows anywhere.] As he approached the mosque, he could see the stylized tree with palm leaves and curling tendrils gleaming in the early day sun. It was early, but already the faithful were inside. Many of the men and women inside were already in the main hall, with looks of barely contained fear behind the veils of their eyes. The city had seen a number of disasters and wars throughout its' history, thanks to it being on the banks of the Sabarmati river and near the Sea of Arabia. Many of the ground forces of UNTIL were from the area so many of the people in the mosque that morning were still in their fatigues, some still bleary eyed from all night patrols near the Storm Border. He quietly slipped into his study, stopping to greet a few worshippers along the way. He took off his light jacket and hung it on the hook near the door. He sat down at his desk, and went through the mail. It was his own personal ritual before going down to pray. As he sorted through the various bills and junk mail, he spied a curious letter. The curious thing was not the writing, since it was typed out. What was interesting was the return address. It said: Champions Island, Earth Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a silver letter opener... Hours earlier, pre-flight to a galaxy far, far away.... Romanov was bent curiously. Not in the usual way, though those days were long past thanks to nova physiology and his Etherian training. He was bent over a holographic map of the affected area of India. He fiddled with the Palmpad and a saffron overlay appeared in the mapped out reality. /Doctor, I have finished the analyis of all known patterns and forms of energy.# "That's excellent, my friend. What have you found?" #Preliminary results are as follows: Isolating and removing all common forms of energy, I have detected a previously catalogued pattern of energy, but not in any way known on this realm.# #Hmmm. Overlay.# Suddenly, the field of saffron changed to areas of dark areas of red and patches of other colors. #What are these areas of red?# asked Romanov as he put the remains of his tea in a cylander and turned to a robot helper. "Place this in the cargo bay." #I believe this realm operates on the understanding that certain places tend to resonate specific high and low frequencies of mesmeretic energy. Cross-referencing all known materials related to the mythos of Star Wars, I have been able to discern that these areas are places that are strong in the Light and the Dark Side of the energy, commonly known as The Living Force.# Having seen all the movies himself, Romanov nodded. #Da, that is my feeling as well. My thinking leads me to believe that this energy can be detected and channeled, yes?# #Yes, although it is more prominent in individuals rather than in places. There are places that are Light and Dark Side Specific, but these are more wild places in the jungles and not in the cities. As to the application in beings, there are ways to detect it and use it, but it would require adapting to the right frequency. The only successful way for that to happen requires further analysis.# Romanov nodded, and looked up as Ana entered the control room. She had on khaki pants and a short sleeved tan shirt, and she was carrying a clipboard in one hand and a gunmetal grey suitcase in the other. She placed the suitcase on the table near the holomap and handed the clipboard to her uncle. He studied the papers on the clipboard for a moment, which was a manifest list for items they needed on the trip. "Provisions are in order. They will remain here in the BORIS when we land in Ahmedabad. I have spoken with the head of UNTIL operations in the area, and they will provide us safe passage to the Storm Border." he said softly as he turned the page over. "The weapons are listed. Well, let's see them." he said to Ana "I have been getting strange feelings from this case, Uncle. They feel familiar to me, but I can't remember where I felt them before." "That is because the crystals used to power the lightsabers are similar in structure to..." he said lovingly while pointing to where her heart would be. Ana suddenly stared off into the distance. "Uncle, there's something you should know. I have been having dreams. Strange dreams. Dreams of a temple with a bright heart, of jungles filled with strange, wonderful and terrifying things." Romanov nodded. "That is very interesting. When I transferred your brain and spinal cord to your new body, I used the crystal to power the critical systems that would keep them alive at first. The crystal was a natural pool of mesmeretic energy as well as a large power converter when linked to the star deep within you. I was told by the Dreamspeaker who gave it to me to only activate it when then time was right, and I would know when. When I powered you up before heading into The Nile Empire, I felt it was time for you to Awaken." Ana sighed, "No coincidence then that I should start having strange dreams about temples filled with light, and strange things Light and Dark just before we head into a galaxy far, far away." she said with an amused grin. Romanov grinned in return. "No, my darling niece. No coincidence at all. From what I have gathered from my Colleagues in the Lodge, there are a number of Akashaic Brotherhood temples that have been overrun by the Empire and transformed as well as a number of Euthanatos temples. What troubles me is that the Brotherhood temples have remained unchanged, since the jungle claimed them long ago. The sacred places of the Euthanatos, however, have grown darker and more menacing. And reports from those that fled say that the Empire concentrated the bulk of its' forces when they arrived to secure these locations." "In fact," he said glancing at the holomap, "there is a known Akashic Brotherhood temple just outside the city of Ahmedabad...which is just on this side of the Storm Border." As he said that, an arrow pointed to just inside the border, in the heart of what appeared to be a jungle. Ana stared at the spot where the arrow landed. "Uncle, I believe I am supposed to go to this place. I have the sense that there is something there very important, but that is all." Romanov nodded in agreement. "I suspect that is the case, since I have long ago learned not to discount the realm of dreams. There are, after all, a reflection of the Ether. Come, let us away." #Computer, open a channel to Roland Phoenix and patch it through the comm.# #Compliance. Channel open, go ahead Doctor." {What's up, Doc?} said the Eternal somewhat distractedly. (Understandable due to the pre-flight inspection and plans made at the moment) {I will be joining you and the rest of the team at the designated location, but I have decided to take a slightly different route. Ana and I will be travelling to Ahmedabad, where we will proceed to the Darklighter after a brief detour.} {Why do I have a really bad feeling about this?} said Roland in mock-exasperation. Romanov grinned, {Trust me, my Eternal friend. There have been some personal developments that need attending. Our detour won't take us too far off course, and I will arrange suitable transportation before we cross the Storm Border.} {Understood. Just be warned, Hyderabad and the Darklighter has become a wretched hive of scum and villany. Be careful, and clear skies to you both.} {May the force be with you, my friend.} quipped Romanov, switching off the comm before Roland had a chance to respond with a grin. TBC ===========================