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Wayward Stars - Group A

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A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

STAR WARS

Episode 3.3

WAYWARD STARS


Following the end of the CLONE WARS, the galaxy remains in turmoil as
the GALACTIC EMPIRE firmly establishes its new regime. Planet after planet fall
under the control of the  IMPERIAL MILITARY, a power so absolute that none can
dare stand openly against it, as all who do meet their end. 

On the free world of ORD MANTELL life continues as normal.
Spacers come and go, delivering supplies to local merchants, or visiting
the famous casinos of WORLPORT, the capital city of the planet. Most of
the populace pay no heed to the goings on in the rest of the galaxy.

However, here in the MID RIM the reach of the Empire's might is a constant threat.
Protected until now by the criminal syndicate known as THE BLACK SUN, Ord
Mantell has been spared the lash of tyranny. Unknown to all but a few, this
peaceful time is about to come to a close...

 

Edited by waywardgm

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Destiny Pool: 8 Dark Side / 0 Light Side

 

Welcome to the PBP game of Star Wars: Wayward Stars. I am very privileged and excited to be your GM, helping to guide and shape the adventure you will be embarking on. This story is YOURS - YOU are the main character and the focus of the tale; well, you and the other four individuals accompanying you. Every action you take will be something that has an effect, be it short term or far reaching in consequence. Your characters are all people who matter - heroes or villains who will make their mark on the galaxy. With this in mind, let's meet our cast!

 

Kymrel as Ramani Fenn, a Balosar Smuggler gifted with a silver tongue and an addiction to death sticks!

The Shy Ion as Eya, a Human escapee of a brutal Inquisitor training program! 

Weedles and Fries as D-MB2 (Embeetoo), a B2 Battle Droid refurbished as a medic, who is more in touch with his past than he lets on. 

primusnine as CR-0216 "Crow", an embittered Clone Trooper who can't quite retire fully into civilian life. 

Jedi Ronin as Torin Dol, a Kel Dor Consular who cares deeply for the wellbeing of others. 

Each one of you is a unique and compelling person, caught up in a whirlwind of forces and destiny beyond the comprehension of the average moisture farmer or nerf herder. From here we will start you down a path of story and legends, where Ramani, Eyasha, Embeetoo, Crow and Torin will find themselves either unlikely allies, perhaps bitter enemies, or maybe even the closest of companions! 

Remember to put any OOC content in a quote box such as this, and tag your Orokos Dice Roller posts with the correct action for ease of checking back should we need to.

 

Now, let's set the scene!

Dawn breaks over the sprawling city of Worlport, capital of the free planet, the Heart of the Bright Jewel, Ord Mantell. Formerly an ordnance/regional depot, the planet had been settled by people from all over the galaxy, transforming into a place renowned for free enterprise - in all its forms. Citizens of Worlport began their day, a day just like any other, with a cool breeze blowing in from the coast and the taste of the ocean on the air. Soon the streets are filled with all manner of species, going about their lives with the practiced ease of a city populated with people comfortable in the knowledge that they are removed from the turmoil plaguing other sectors of the galaxy. The markets are bustling, the sidewalks are lined with pedestrians, the streets flush with speeders and the skyways above humming with craft flitting to and fro, navigating around the tall buildings to land at ports dotted across the city. 

And all across the metropolis are individuals engaging in all manner of activity; from business dealings that are either legal acquisitions of ships, supplies or sundries, to negotiations that sometimes become far more aggressive and result in more than one person exiting the business world via blaster. Here in this seedy underbelly is the real Ord Mantell, a city run by the brutal and cunning crime syndicate known as Black Sun. Anyone who has been, or will be successful on the planet has dealt with this group, either willingly or by coercion. They are the true power behind the planet, and their disdain of the Empire is well known. Bosses of all levels traffic goods and services of any kind, so long as the person asking for them has the credits needed. Drugs, weapons, passports, muscle... Any of it can be found, should someone know the right place to look. 

Amongst these two stark contrasts are a group of individuals who are touched by the heavy hand of fate. Their role in the galaxy may not yet be known, but they each have a significant part to play in the future of not just this world, but all the worlds across all of the wayward stars...

Edited by waywardgm

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Trust. That’s what it all boils down to in the end, Ramani thinks to himself as he walks down the street early in the morning. And that was really the problem when the people he knows tend not to trust him. It really wasn’t his fault the operation back home on Balosar went south and got raided by those annoying, control-freak Imperials. And it really was a coincidence he had been off-world at the time. The problem was whatever former associates he still had back home with ties to the Black Sun were rather reluctant to belief that. So when they started talking about silencing Ramani, just in case he was the snitch, the young entrepreneur figured it was time to move on. It was hard to work with criminals if there was even just the slightest scent of a snitch about him.

 

At first it had been easy. He had plenty of credits stored in off-planet accounts for a rainy day. Of course, it hadn’t helped that his accountant had helped himself to a large portion of that stash. Speaking of trust, Ramani thought glumly, kicking an empty food-container of some sort down the street. So, easy at first, but then the credits started running dry, and work was still hard to come by.

 

At first he had no problems borrowing a bit of cash back on Coruscant. But when his former crook friends still wouldn’t give him a break and let him operate in peace, paying back those loans became a bit harder than he had anticipated. At first he was able to sell off assets. His beautiful penthouse-flat went first, replaced by a rented shithole. He didn’t mind so much. What he had really hated was selling of his airspeeder. His little red CorTech had gotten him almost as many women as his good looks and easy charm. It turned out it was hard to be cool on public transport. Who knew?

 

When the collectors from his creditors found his new rented flat and kept insisting he’d pay them back, Ramani decided that perhaps it was time for a change of scenery. Coruscant was so boring. He travelled a bit, visiting the Wheel and seeing the stars a bit. Almost by a coincidence he ended up on Ord Mantel, hitching a ride with Etienne Omanov, a beautiful human business woman who appreciated him for what he was. And he appreciated her for what she was. Only he didn’t know that one of the things she was just happened to be married. To Wolachaw Omanov, a powerful member of the Black Sun on Ord Mantel. Well, she wouldn’t be telling him, and Ramani certainly wouldn’t either.

 

Still, it made it a bit more difficult to settle in on this lawless planet where the Black Sun was the real power behind the corrupt government. So he would start a lot closer to the bottom than he would have wanted. He wasn’t really worried about that. He’d done it once, and he could do so again.

 

After spending only a couple of days on the planet he was feeling optimistic. In many ways Ord Mantel was like his homeworld. Like Balosar it was heavily polluted and ruled by crooks and corrupt officials. He would fit right in. Assuming the bastards in the Black Sun could be convinced to forget and forgive, of course.

 

He had hit a few casinos in the bad part of town the two previous evenings, trying to find out what’s what and who’s who in Worlport. And now he was really running low on cash. He would need to score a loan somewhere to get back on his feet. A small loan, and then hit some very disreputable casinos to build up some capital, repay the loan. Cheat some people too rich for their own good out of their credits. Yes, things would be fine. Just fine.

 

It was really only the fact that he was dead-broke that made him get up so early this particular morning. Normally he tended to sleep until noon at least, but today he had needed to score himself some more deathsticks, and not at the street prices. And everybody knew the best time to buy drugs cheaply was in the early morning just before the dealers went to bed. When they were desperate to unload just a little bit more of the stuff before heading home. That’s when you could get a good deal. The dealer had even given Ramani his stylish backpack to sweeten the deal when Ramani bought a box of 100 deathsticks. Fresh off the shuttle from Balosar. The good stuff.

 

As the cold breeze causes him to zip up his jacket he looks around at the people starting the day. He simply couldn’t remember the last time he had been up this early. What do people do this early anyway, he finds himself wondering as he walks aimlessly. He finds an out-doors kaf-place and orders a hot beverage, sitting down to watch the people in Wolport go about their business this cool but not overly polluted morning.

 


Hey all.

 

Great to be on the road, looking forward to start the game!

 

Here are a couple of rolls at the start of the game. First, a roll for Destiny:

 

Starting destiny roll: 1eF 1 Dark Side
f-ds.png
 

A somewhat appropriate single black pip…

 

And second, a d100 for pocket change.

 

Pocket change: 1d100 15

 

Ramani is more desperate than I thought…

 

Edited by Kymrel

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Torin made his way down the business thoroughfare.  Shops were still closed but shopkeeps and employees were beginning to show up.  The sun started to shine down in full and Torin took a deep breath and enjoyed the last calm of the day before the bustle of Wolport took over.  He folded his long hands in his robes and scanned the street for the proprietor he was supposed to meet this morning.

Torin didn't have much except his reputation.  Fortunately for him a reputation for tough but fair dealing and of honesty was of value on Ord Mantell.  In a place where so many transactions were made but under the baleful gaze of Black Sun and corrupt bureaucrats and administrators, business operators could make use of Torin to mediate disputes and negotiations.

 

It was not at all what Torin had envisioned for himself as a Jedi but in such dark times he was grateful his training was still useful.  And while he wasn't keeping peace in the galaxy he could bring some order and peace to some small part of it.

 

Torin stopped and stood back off the street, watching for the Sullistan droid shop manager he was supposed to negotiate with.  He was supposed to be here somewhere...

 

 

Destiny Pool: 1eF 2 Light Side
f-ls-ls.png

The Force is with Torin

Pocket Change: 1d100 14

And the Force is cheap!

Edited by Jedi Ronin

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Eya would also normally be sleeping right now, but that's because her security job—and she's finally found one disreputable enough to let her keep her weapons—runs through the night. Unfortunately, last night's shift ran quite a bit into this fine morning as well, leaving her awake at an irritatingly late hour. Her rifle is safely shoved into a bag originally intended for particularly long sports equipment, her knife a comforting presence in her boot. And that jumpsuit of hers is armored, but who's looking?

So now she's at an outdoor caf-place, resolutely ignoring the drink's horrible taste and eyeing everyone else somewhat dubiously.

Destiny roll: 1eF 2 Dark Side

f-ds-ds.png

As if it'd be anything else.

Pocket change: 1d100 70

But hey, Eya probably just got paid...

Edited by The Shy Ion

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:Self-Defense Protocol Disengaged:

A trickle of life dripped from D-MB2’s bayonet; a small rat like creature lay crumbled beneath his metallic heel. Pity, he actually liked the little thing to an extent, but that’s what happens when you chew on a disgruntled soldier’s wiring. Embeetoo stood on the side of the open street, letting the blood dry on his blade before he continued any further.

It had been two months since he arrived on Ord Mantell and he was just about fed up with the whole planet. At first things went smoothly, he had found information on his good old “buddy” Hund Porank. Too bad for him that information was that the old Chevin had flown the coop a year before the droid’s sensors ever laid eyes on this abysmal world. So, stranded on such a filthy layer of rock Embeetoo decided to sate his lust before he went back on the hunt.

It wasn’t hard at first, mercenary jobs were easy to come by. Unfortunately for him instead of the glorious assaults and well-armed foes he hoped to face he was instead pitted against Chadra-Fan with stun batons, basic extortion duty and sometimes even acting as deployable cover. Oh how he missed the old days, the days where man and droid fought efficiently and skillfully on the fields of combat: the quick kills, the rush of joy beaming in his chassis, and the satisfaction knowing that he had fought a worthy opponent.

Embeetoo wandered the streets out in the open, hoping to see some sort of action. Where once he could find a young man brave, talented, and foolish enough to strike out at him, activating his protocol and allowing him to fight the good fight, now anyone rarely tried to pick a fight with him. Guess Republic sympathies do not run thick here. Worse yet, he often came across the odd blaster stricken bystander, forced to preform first aid and surgery on the spot ,despite his moaning and groaning.

His reputation left him with little to challenge himself, and without any information or battle to be one he had very little to stay. But, stay he did as no one wanted to be seen with an old B2 unit, much less ferry them right into Imperial controlled territories. And without a master he didn’t have many options, unable to fire the first shot and then only allowed minimal combat protocol for his own self-preservation.

The thick, bulky droid clomped along the road, his bandolier chittering as his stim packs clanged up against his body. He let out a small hum as he surveyed the area, hoping to find someone or something exciting for once (not just common criminal activity). He locked his arm back into a frontward position, his dexterous fingers clenched in a stern fist as he surveyed the area.

He let out a metallic drone, thinking that today may just be another cantina day; at least the band’s Omnibox player was decent.

Hey everyone, I'm excited to be here and I can't wait to see how this all comes together.

Destiny Pool: http://orokos.com/roll/437997

: 1eF 1 Dark Side

f-ds.png

So for starters I added a black pip to the pool, bit of a bummer there.

Spare Change: http://orokos.com/roll/437998

On the plus side I hit the jackpot when it comes to pocket change with a whopping 99! Don't know what a droid like him would want with credits but hey I'll take it :P.​

Edited by Weedles and Fries

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Up before dawn, soldier instincts and regimen always there, not to mention the fitful sleep from the bad dreams, the Clone Trooper designated CR-0216 was already packing his bag. Job here was a wash. Well, he'd decided he wasn't going to go through with it. Whole thing was a set-up, and for someone who didn't deserve it. Problem was working out how to convince the people who'd, in a roundabout way, employed him, that the particular person they were looking for was long gone or maybe even dead. Odds were he could set something up, but the real issue was making it convincing enough they wouldn't just send someone else after her. Bloody lunatics, the Clone thinks, forcing children into things like that. Pausing with one hand inside the backpack, holding a bundle of rations, the old soldier realizes this isn't drastically different from his own past once again. Nah, can't compare it. I was made for war. She had a life before all this, and should have one after. 

Stowing the last of his gear, CR-0216 leaves a thank you note and the key on the small table of his room. Without so much as a glance back, he steps outside into the hall, a maid bustling past with a room service trolley ready to be loaded for rounds later that morning. She looks quizzically at him, a brown skinned, silver haired man clad in ramshackle gear, his backpack clearly heavy on his shoulder. Trying to look less conspicuous was impossible for the Clone, as he walked and talked like a soldier, specifically one of the millions that were bred to fight against the Separatist forces in a war that had ended four years ago. Hard to blend in when your face was one of the most common in the galaxy. Nodding to the maid, the Clone moves off to the turbolift, punching the button for the ground floor. 

Spaceport is a fifteen minute speeder ride, or a forty minute walk. May as well stretch my legs. The lift made a small bell sound as it reached street level. Rubbing at his tired eyes, the Clone walked through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Barely anyone around at this hour, but he liked it that way. Less staring. Next flights to Coruscant were that evening, but he planned on booking the ticket now to get a room to himself on a passenger ship. Better than being stuck in the hold of a cargo freighter or something equally slow and noisy. I hope she's ok. Poor thing. He walks slowly, thinking over events of the past few days. A long stakeout, a chance encounter, a flashback to days long gone and a conversation about the past and the future, with barely any thought given to the present. She still needs to eat better. Hope she takes my lecture seriously. What were the odds that the person he was sent to find was someone he'd met once? Galaxy was a huge place. No bloody way he could have expected it. 

Shaking his head, the old Clone starts to walk a bit faster. Soldiers don't have time for things like that. Even ex-soldiers. 
 

Destiny pool roll: 1eF 2 Dark Side

f-ds-ds.png

It's definitely going to be a dark day on Ord Mantell...

Pocket change: 1d100 31

And a decent amount to get a feed if need be. 

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Destiny Pool: 6 Dark Side / 2 Light Side

Great opening posts everyone! Good work setting the scene for your characters and their mindsets for that morning. Let's start into some events, shall we? Get a feel for your ways of dealing with things. I will break up the segments with character names and a page break in between.

Ramani:

Talking with the openness of long time friends and people unconcerned with eavesdropping, a human male with short blonde hair and casual attire sits down with a dark-furred Togorian female, only two tables away from the Balosar. "Look, I don't disagree, Grrowv, but you can't expect me to abide by your sense of honor every time we conduct a business deal. It's not a hunt or a battle!" the human says, his accent giving away his Corellian heritage. He waves to the server, holding up two fingers to order a pair of kaf drinks, the server nodding in response. Turning back to his large companion, the man continues, "Besides, he did end up trying to pull the blaster..."

Snorting in derision, the Togorian cuts in, "Yes, after you decked him with the right hook. He was acting in self defense. The two thugs with him reacted to that and tried to shoot us, which let me act in self defense too. I mean, I feel bad for the guy, Solan, I do. He had no idea what he was getting into trying to conduct business with someone like you. And now we're stuck with a whole ship load of things we won't be able to sell here, at least not until the heat dies down some." The server arrives with their drinks, and Grrowv sniffs at hers before lapping at it with her tongue, her sigh of appreciation afterward almost a growl.

"Well, not necessarily. We just need to find buyers who will believe us when we said we got the lot from off world..." the man named Solan muses with a small laugh, his rich voice resounding across the cafe, "The real issue is finding an idiot of that magnitude." He sips at his drink, his eyes less focused, either from savoring the taste or thinking about who to talk to.

- - - - - - - - - -

Torin:

The crowds thickened swiftly in the area as businesses both inside buildings and market stalls on the street opened for the day. Hawkers cried their wares, neon signs blazed brightly even in the morning sunlight, and all around the Kel Dor the sounds of another normal day began to clamor with one another. Some shot looks at him, a mixture of eyes that showed curiosity and others holding caution, perhaps wondering who he was waiting for. A group of children pass by the spot he is standing, joking and laughing with one another, and playing pretend. "No way, Galrin, the Jedi were too real! And they were amazing warriors who saved the weak and inno...!" a blue skinned Twi'lek girl says, none too quietly. A skinny human boy claps his hand over her mouth, muffling the last of it, before staring directly into her eyes and shaking his head. When he speaks, it is in a grave tone, "My parents told me never to talk about that kind of thing in public, Addy. You can get in BIG trouble if anyone catches you! Besides, they weren't real anyway, my daddy said it was all a big story." His dark glower suddenly brightens, before he asks, "Vuuron, did you finish the maths homework? I need to copy it before we get to class!" As they move off, Vuuron, the Ithorian boy the human questioned begins to reply, but his bass tones are lost in the noise of the crowd.

A few minutes later, during which time an argument over the price of fresh fish has broken out and been settled, a Sullustan wearing clothes somewhat out of fashion half wanders, half pushes through the throngs, up to Torin. "Good morning," he starts in heavily broken and very accented Basic, "You must be man I am meet. Please, follow into my shop so can talk better with quiet." He starts pushing back into the teeming hordes of people, waving for the Kel Dor to follow.

- - - - - - - - - -

Eya:

"You'll just get shot again," the Togorian laughs, her toothy grin widening into a large smile as the Corellian man splutters into his drink. "Ok, fine, I suppose you didn't technically get shot the first time, but it was a near thing!" From where she's sitting, Eyasha can't fail to overhear this conversation, nor can the rest of the cafe. Slamming the cup back on the table, Solan wipes kaf from his mouth and inspects his vest where he has spilled some. Brushing at it ineffectually, the green eyed human glares at her, before firing back, "Listen, fur for brains! If I hadn't dropped him we both would have had one extra hole to either laugh or cry out of. You know I prefer to act first and think la..."

"Never!" Grrowv cuts in, before bursting into laughter at Solan's face turning a shade of red that would put racing stripes on a swoop to shame. "Alright, alright. If I forgot to say thank you, I'm sorry. How about we just agree that situation was not ideal and work out what to do. There's always that gentleman we heard about at the main port. He's meant to be leaving today and has been buying all sorts of things for a trading voyage. Sure, not all of what we got would strictly be of value to him, but that's your job to convince him otherwise. Once you settle down, and maybe change shirts..."

Calming himself, and looking around to see if anyone has noticed either his embarrassment or the kaf stains on his clothes, Solan replies, "Sure, let's do that. I've heard he can be somewhat stoic when it comes to strangers, though. And runs a full crew. Maybe we should get some more bodies to make us look more legitimate?" His eyes linger on a Balosar, sitting alone with a mug in front of him, and pause briefly as the pass over Eya. 

- - - - - - - - - -

Embeetoo: 

Even in a street mostly empty of pedestrians, people deliberately crossed over to the other side of the road as they approached the lumbering droid. Hushed whispering from every group and very pointed looks, though they were attempting to hide those, were directed towards it. Out of an alleyway a gaggle of children came at speed, clearly running late for something. "See, I told you it was the wrong way, Jado. Now we're going to have to stay after and clean the classroom!" yells a young, blue skinned Twi'lek, before poking her tongue out at a human boy trailing at the rear of the group.

Not looking where she is going, the child runs straight into Embeetoo, a small metal on skin sound audible from the impact. She sits down, hard, and a split second later her eyes well up with tears and she begins crying, then wailing. The other children stop dead, unsure of what to do with the bulky droid looming above her. An Ithorian, large despite his age, tentatively walks forward and kneels beside her, grumbling quietly in his native tongue. He inspects the Twi'lek, and a moment later his hands come away with a little amount of blood on them. The human boys gasps, "Oh no! We're going to be in so much trouble! Please, Mr. Droid, we're very sorry!"

Around the street, bystanders stop to watch. Some looking horrified, others confused. 

- - - - - - - - - -

CR-0216:

Between the hotel and the spaceport, the sun rises swiftly and the citizens of Worlport emerge from their homes, surrounding Crow as he makes his way along the thoroughfares. Men and women of all species mingle and talk, conversations roaming from the price of fresh fish to the state of the senate and the disarray it was in. One particularly opinionated Rodian man gets into a heated row with a Sullustan over whether or not it's legal to label droids as 'new' when their internal components have been scavenged from old models. The Sullustan man dismisses it and races off, calling back that he is going to be late for a meeting if he doesn't get a move on. All in all, a very normal day for the area.

Ships start to fly by overhead, a very clear pair of lines heading to and from the port Crow is walking towards. Corellian freighters, shuttles, a significant number of large scrap barges and even a few more unique craft are visible in the nearest sky lane. Taxis flit about, some airspeeders, others passing the clone on the street. Almost every single person stares at him as he passes. Most openly, only a few bothering to pretend they are not. A few murmurs are audible to Crow above the din of vehicles and people. "Is it really? He looks so old, though." "Accelerated aging? No, you're joking. Is that even a real thing?" "My, my, he's handsome enough though. So they all look like that?"

 

Well, here we are, with the first set of things you may want to engage in on the table. Again, I want to stress how much this is YOUR story, everyone. You are free to take up or ignore any plot lines you wish. If there's anything you want to do, message me and we can craft some encounters. Otherwise I'll leave you all to reply and see what you come up with. 

 

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As he continued to ponder his situation, Embeetoo was greeted with a dull thud against his durasteel frame, followed the sounds of frightened spawn. One such child had seemed to have burst into a horrid display of pain and fear, much to the droids annoyance. We're all children so fragile and dramatic?

Ignoring the human child's pleading, the hulking droid bent down as well as he could to meet the Twilek eye to sensor, before reaching on the side of his left leg. Still eyeing the kids and scanning over the horrified crowd the droid pressed down and from a small compartment deposited a stimstick. He passed the bit of wood over to the boy standing before him whiling groaning in his deep, tinny voice, annoyed by his distraction "Split this between yourselves and chew. Maybe this will make you pay attention long enough before some common thug decides to splatter you across the pavement".

Giving off another disgruntled hum, Embeetoo turned to the alien child, still bleeding a moderate amount after the impact. "Stop you're sniveling and sit still, this will only take a moment". With that, almost on instinct, his arms twisted to the compartment located snug on his back where his more intricate tools lie. God he hated having to do this, not for her sake but for his. Had he not been programed the way he was, he would have stepped over the spawn and went his way. The pain would have taught her to be more alert after all; by mending her wounds he was only abiding her weakness. They better not have started playing "Worm Case" at the cantina yet. Having to patch up a clutzy organic was definetly not what he had in mind today...

"Ithorian, be prepared to hold the Twilek down. Judging by her reaction I doubt she's strong enough to stay stoic during what comes next."

 

Carefully, the droid brought out a can of disinfectant and a bacta patch from his medkit. He sprayed the solution lightly, trying not to waste too much on such a klutz. It took awhile for him to actually finish though, as she flailed about and about. After her thrashing then plastered the patch onto her azure skin, allowing for the soothing strip to do it's work.

 

Medicine Check: Mending the Twilek Girl's Wounds: 3eA+2eP+1eB+1eD 1 success, 6 advantage
a-s.pnga-a.pnga-a-a.pngp-a-a.pngp-a-a.pngb--.pngd-th.png

Edited by Weedles and Fries

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It has been Ramani’s experience that in order to get people to like you, manipulate them and lie to them convincingly, you have to know people. All sorts of people. As he drinks his kaf he watches people go by, off to work or home after a hard night gambling or drinking. He watches two overweight businessmen having breakfast on the next table and listens in on their conversation. He rolls his eyes. Engineers discussing structural details for a bridge connecting two large skyscrapers. How dull. He watches children run by, clearly on their way to school. But his gaze finally comes to rest on a woman sitting by a table off in the corner.

 

There is something about the human female the draws the eye. She isn’t his type. Not by far. Young, yes, pretty, sure, but not his type. Not blonde enough, Ramani thinks to himself. And probably not dumb enough either. No obvious tats, plain clothes. He tries to peer without appearing to be peering. Which is hard, but he’s good at it. He isn’t sure, but when her clothes shift he sees what appear to be at least two thin scars on her forearm. Strange on a girl that young.

 

What really draws his attention is the bulky duffel-bag she has shuffled half-way under the table. A lot can be hidden in a bag like that. The bag reminds Ramani of a strange character he used to know, back on Balosar. Teeloni Bato. Called the Bill Collector until recently. Until he earned his new nickname. He is a non-descript guy, not to threatening when you look at him. Sort of like the owner of the large duffel bag under that table.

 

The Bill Collector used to be someone his drug-peddling bosses sent to have a polite conversation when someone was behind on payment. Before they sent someone considerably less polite. Until one day when the person he was trying to collect from tried to whack him. He soon found out that Bato had a few tricks up his sleeve. The poor guy couldn’t afford cybernetics so he would probably never walk again.

 

And so Bato moved up in the world. His bosses, impressed by his new-found violent streak, sent him to deal with a minor gang operating on the fringes. Hoping they were too small for the big boys to notice. They were wrong. The bosses didn’t tell Bato much. Only to make sure the gang stopped selling drugs in the wrong neighborhood. When Bato returned the day after with sixteen heads in a large duffel bag he earned his new nickname. The Headhunter. Ramani shivers. That man has no soul. Ramani had the misfortune of gazing into his eyes once. His eyes were blank, as was his expression. But there was malevolence there. Underneath the calm exterior was a monster.

 

Ramani calls for the waitress to bring him a second cup of kaf, and a sweet pastry. Just thinking about the Headhunter has shaken him up somehow. He looks at the young woman, still sitting with one foot stepping carefully on the bag’s handle. So not dumb. Careful enough to send a clear signal. Nobody is snatching this bag. So, not dumb. Streetwise. But probably not a stone-cold killer like the Headhunter, Ramani thinks to himself. And most likely the bag housed something horribly banal like an instrument or something. Not sixteen heads at least.

 

He is still contemplating the young woman when a strange couple sit down two tables over. He shifts his attention to them, discreetly shifting his antennapalps under his dreadlocks to observe them better. The human sounded like a Corellian, and the Togorian sounded, well, tough. Like she could beat him up and not break a sweat. Did Togorians sweat?

 

The Balosar listens to the conversation the pair is having, barely trying to keep up the appearance of reading the local news on his datapad. It really does sound like they have a problem. A problem he could fix for them. For an agreeable sum of credits. A large and agreeable sum of credits. No time like the present to seize that particular opportunity for quick profit.

 

Ramani gets up and moves over to the table, making sure not to approach either the human or the Togorian from behind. He grabs a chair from the next table. “May I?” He asks, and then sits down at their table without waiting for an answer.

 

“I’m sorry,” he begins. “Where are my manners? My name is Ramani Fenn. I couldn’t help overhearing your problems. And I believe I could be in a position to help. You seem to be looking for an idiot of rather substantial proportions to buy merchandise you should rather not be trying to shift on Ord Mantel right about now. As it happens, I am quite experienced in both locating idiots and dealing with them. I think you could very well benefit from a business relationship with me.”

 

The Balosar pauses for a moment, but continues before the pair can get in a word edgewise. “Seems to me you have an idiot in mind, and could use someone, well, unknown to the locals to broker a deal. And as I am new on the planet and have no ties here, having me negotiate the deal would clearly be beneficial to you. And I’m sure we could come to an agreement on my fee. Although I think that perhaps we should select a more … discreet place to finish this conversation.”

 

Ramani leans back in his chair, looking like he owns the place, waiting for one of the strange pair to respond.

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The Sullustan hurried through the growing foot traffic, Torin in tow, and stopped in front of a gated shop front.

There was a young human girl leaning against it.

"I'm glad to see you showed up on time today."

He pulled out a code cylinder and pressed it against a panel.  The gate slid up and they entered his shop.

 

"Watch the shop, I've got to take care of some business in the back...this way!"

 

The shop had a respectable array of sundry droids and parts.  Most were well worn and some looked new.

They left the store proper, walked through a repair bay and into a small office.

 

"Sit.  Please."  The Sullustan gestured distractedly towards a grubby chair on one side of a desk.

 

"I am Dorn.  I take it that you are Aril Nunb?"  Torin asked politely.

 

"Yes, yes." Aril looked around nervously before sitting down behind the desk.  "I had been waiting visit...from someone"

 

"Mr. Keev has enjoyed your business partnership over the last several months and he hired me to see to it that it continued on good terms."

 

Aril eyed Torin, scanning him up and down.  "Good terms?"  Aril seemed to relax, just a little.  It didn't look like "Dorn" was carrying anything like a blaster pistol or vibro weapon or club or...Aril tried not to think to much about it.

 

"Yes.  Mr. Keev believes that last shipment must have been an unfortunate oversight in quality control."

 

"Unfortunate?  Ah, yes.  I will do better next time then, eh?"

 

"Mr. Keev hopes so.  And asks that as a gesture of good faith, that you give him a significant discount on the next shipment..."

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Eya shoulders the bag again and wanders over to the table herself, half-drunk kaf in one hand. She nods politely to the pair. "My name's Eya. I do security." She attempts a smile. It might even have looked pleasant, without the knife-line scars across her cheeks and chin. "Like Mister Talkative here, I'd be interested in some work." She turns her calculating blue gaze on Ramani, the smile slipping away far more easily than it came.

Doing security for an overconfident fast-talker wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Better than standing guard for a less-than-legitimate gambling den. More exciting, anyway—and, much as she'd never admit it, Eya is horribly bored as a door guard. Even when some drunk idiot causes enough trouble to keep everyone late. "A mouth like his needs backup," she adds, in that hard, neutral tone of hers. Not truly droid-like, but not as far from there as it could be.

Just a note, Kym: You were a little too conservative with Eya's description. Think serious scarring. Looks like she's been in a nasty accident. Or a nasty "accident."

Edited by The Shy Ion

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Bloody banthas, harpin' on as though I can't hear them. Could hear a nexu sneakin' up from two hundred yards, Crow thought angrily as he walked on past the gossips. True, Clones weren't that common around these parts, so he understood the excitement of seeing someone like himself. But the stares got old. Or maybe he was just getting old. He didn't want to think about it. Anyone who stared openly at him was met with a level gaze until they looked away, and he allowed himself an inward smile each time. Still got it. Even the most inexperienced Clones knew how to direct the Drill Sergeant eyes at someone, showing complete disapproval without any emotion on their face. And if you kept pushing a Drill Sergeant past that point... Well, Crow could still feel his arms and shoulders burning from the push ups he'd been punished with.

As he neared the spaceport the crowds grew even more tightly packed, people streaming in and out of every entrance. Everyone always seemed to rush at spaceports, and Crow never understood why. You book your flight, muck about for the day until two hours beforehand, then head back to the port with at least an hour to spare before the departure. Check your baggage if you have any, pay the right people to look the other way if you're carrying weapons, and then go find a comfy room to enjoy the boredom of hyperspace. Easy. And it was even easier if you had your own ship.

Walking through the huge arches, Crow made his way toward the service counter, thankful that the line wasn't long. What he was not so grateful for was the stench of the Besalisk man in front of him. That one definitely needed a spruce up in the refresher. Surveying the area, the Clone noted each exit, any blind corners, low cover, every window and all vantage points. This was automatic, and done in a matter of seconds. You can take the man out of the military, but this particular soldier would never let old habits die. Nearby, a large loader droid pushed a container on a repulsor sled, directed by a fraught looking Devaronian male in a long coat. Behind him trailed a pair of bulky Trandoshans carrying rather hefty rifles. Thugs working for him, I guess.

"Sir, next please!" came a voice, sounding rather insistent, or perhaps impatient. Crow turned back from watching the proceedings to see a young human woman waving him over from behind her transparisteel booth. Remembering where he was, the Clone hustled toward her. "And how can we help you today, sir?" she asks, by way of greeting.

"Uhh yeah, one passenger to Coruscant, please and thank you. On a liner with private rooms. Heard one was leavin' this evening," the Clone replies in his gravelly voice, pulling out a credit stick in advance. 

The girl looks down at her computer, tapping away at the screen and bringing up the information. "Ah, here we are. Yes, the Seane's Freedom is scheduled to leave at seven... But I have some bad news for you, sir. It appears that the entire ship has been booked for a large wedding party. There are, unfortunately, no rooms available." To her credit, the girl sounded genuinely apologetic, even though it wasn't her fault. 

"Blast... Any cargo ships heading towards the Core?" he asks, gravelly voice giving way to grumpy, and his hand slowly lowering the credit stick back into his belt pouch. 

She takes a moment with the computer again, before looking up at him with soft eyes, "No, sir, the only ones listed leaving today are heading further toward the Outer Rim." She pauses, waiting for his response. Crow thinks for a minute, before thanking her and walking away, knowing he was stuck here for at least one more day if that were the case. No point heading to the Outer Rim, it'd just mean an uncomfortable ride and a terrible destination. Finding a bench, the Clone un-shoulders his backpack and plonks down with a huff, annoyed that even with timely arrival to the port there was nothing he could do to change the passenger manifest... Unless he became part of the wedding party! No, that wouldn't work. Who'd believe a Clone was involved with anyone's lives? They were background noise in the galaxy now, even the ones who had prominent work. 

What to do now..?

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Nice work again everyone! I see some of you are taking the bait... Not that I am sitting here laughing manically or anything while consulting a master plan! 

Embeetoo:

The Ithorian nods  after accepting the stim stick, and gently takes hold of the small Twi'lek's arms, speaking reassuringly to her. The girl buries her chin downward, her lekku falling over her shoulders and flailing as she shakes her head. "Come on, Addy, he's trying to help. He's a nice droid!" the human boy called Jado comments as he walks over to the small huddle of bodies, his face returning to a normal colour after being pale with fear a moment ago. "Let him see your head, I think he is like a doctor or something, see what he gave Vuuron! It looks yummy!" With that, the human child snatches the stim stick from the Ithorian and shoves most of it into his mouth. The pale shade returns, this time tinged with green. He begins to make faces, and retches somewhat from the bitter taste. With this scene playing out, and being rather loud, the Twi'lek girl looks up, allowing Embeetoo to survey and treat the abrasion on her forehead as she watches the human and laughs.

 

Medicine check is a success - good job! You manage to staunch the bleeding from the Twi'lek girl's head, and alleviate any immediate concussion symptoms with the extra advantage. She heals the one wound and two strain she took from running into you. I imagine you applied some sort of spray/adhesive bandage? Feel free to play that out via editing the post - the more detail, the better!

 

Once he has finished, the Ithorian boy, Vuuron, helps the girl named Addy to her feet. She is all smiles now, and is brave enough to throw her arms around the large droid's leg as she looks up at him. "Thanks, Mr. Droid! Sorry for bumping into you. We were in a hurry to get to school!" She stays there, staring up at the towering automaton, before the human boy grabs her by the shoulders and drags her away, still looking ill from what would likely be a dose of energy that would make him impossible to teach today. Vuuron bows his head to Embeetoo as he stands, saying something in his native tongue that most would guess is thanks. He then hurries off, chasing after Addy and Jado. 

The groups of interested onlookers begin to disperse, now that they know the threat is over. Embeetoo can certainly hear the comments they make as they wander off, however. "Who would have thought a Battle Droid chassis could work as a medical unit?" "Do you think all of them got reformatted, try and save the company's image?" "No way! I heard they were all decommissioned. Hey did I tell you I saw a Clone earli..." The voices and people trail away, leaving Embeetoo alone in the street. 

- - - - - - - - - 

Torin:

"Gesture of good faith?" Aril asks with an edge to his voice. He sits up straighter in his high backed, leather chair, meeting eyes with the Kel Dor. "You see how this man does business? I am aim to make credit on deals, not lose!" the Sullustan huffs, absently cleaning some electronics from the desk into a small tray. They appear to be mislabelled droid parts, of no real value individually. "I do better, but why need discount? Why if we on good terms need good faith? All sounds like bad, to me." Aril watches Dorn's reaction, seeming to gain some measure of confidence. It is clear the man will not simply agree to whatever terms Mr. Keev sets down, as he is a savvy businessman in his own right. "And you, I not yet know you well enough. How is you come to work for Mr. Keev?" he asks suddenly, "Why is he send you to talk of this matters?" 

 

Go ahead and roll a Negotiation check against Difficulty of two purples with a single Setback, Jedi Ronin. Aril is pleased you are here to help him with delicate matters in business, but not convinced he needs to allow Mr. Keev anything off retail price, simply because of one let down, and the request of a discount has put his back up. He does have people to feed, after all! Let's see if you can convince him this is an important step in regaining the trust of your mutual acquaintance. 

- - - - - - - - - - 

Ramani and Eya:

"See, Grrowv! I told you we'd find someone to help if we found a nice place for a drink!" the Corellian says enthusiastically, before kicking a seat out from under the table and indicating for Eya to sit. "And it looks like we have found two someones!" He nods encouragingly towards the Balosar and the scarred human. The Togorian shrugs her massive shoulders and leans back, taking in the newcomers as they arrange themselves at the table. Solan has a smile on his face that looks almost as predatory as a kath hound's, and she shoots him a glare that makes it wither. 

Reaching out a large hand, the Togorian waits for them to shake it, introducing herself and her companion. "You know, this Balosar did say he was skiled at locating idiots, Solan..." she says flatly, before engaging in a more jovial tone. "Good morning, Mr. Ramani "Talkative" Fenn, and Miss Eya. I am Grrowv. It is a pleasure to meet you both. And this is my rude Captain, who is, at least some days of the year, also my friend, Solan Zegg." She takes another lap at her kaf, waiting for them to process the names. "As you both overheard, thanks to the Captain's idea of," and she changes her voice here, doing a fair approximation of the Corellian man's accent, "Finding reputable business partners at a low key location like a cafe or something, but definitely not a bar 'cause you only get drunken louts or muscle with no brains or guys who'll stick a vibroknife in your back first chance they ge..."

"Would you cut that out!" Solan cuts in hurriedly, "I hate it when you remember everything I say word for word. It's weird. You must have a better use for that memory of yours." He regains his composure quickly, smiling obsequiously at Ramani and Eya. "Sorry about that, Grrowv here can be a little verbose at times." The Togorian snorts into her cup, clearly suppressing laughter, but does not say anything further. "So, Mr. Fenn, you think you can help us acquire a person of lesser intelligence to perhaps sell a rather substantial amount of goods? And Miss Eya, you say you work security? It certainly looks like you can back up that claim, though I'm putting your age at too young to be very experienced outside that career line. Seems the Ord Mantell gangs hire kids too?"

Grrowv clicks her tongue, giving Solan another look that suggests he needs to stop analyzing the newcomers and get on with it. "Ah, right. Well, as you did overhear, thanks to my brilliant plan, we are in need of more bodi... Persons, to accompany us on a deal. Yes, Ramani, we do have a target in mind. A Devaronian gentleman, I use this term loosely, who is currently loading some rather diverse shipments for transport to the Outer Rim. It's best not to get into the exact nature of the items we have, and this will make sure even if one of you is an agent for the law you can't indict us." Once again, the Togorian woman levels a stare that could freeze ice, causing the Corellian man to blanche. "But of course we're not doing anything illegal," Solan continues, earning an exasperated sign from Grrowv, "We simply want to sell this man some things at a good price. A price that would, of course, earn you both a decent days pay. If you are interested, we can indeed move the location to somewhere more discreet." He picks up his own kaf, takes a gulp and sets it back on the table, watching both Ramani and Eya. "Wait a second, you furry oaf! Did you call me an idiot just before?" This time the Togorian laughs outright, enjoying her partner's lack of attention to her jokes about him. 

The Togrutan waitress comes back over, holding another cup for Ramani and carrying his pastry. She gives them all a suspicious look before setting the food down and heading back inside. In the moments of silence that follow, one of the overweight businessmen guffaws, clapping his friend on the shoulder and saying, "That's a brilliant idea! We'll save tens of thousands in costs and they won't know any different. And if they ever found out they'd blame that idiot from accounting!"

 

Now that you two are both closer, you can roll Perception checks against a Difficulty of one red and two purple dice on Solan, and three purple dice on Grrowv, to see if they are perhaps hiding any items on their persons. You can also attempt to discern if they are telling the whole truth by rolling a Discipline check against a difficulty of two red and one purple - this covers both of them. 

- - - - - - - - - -

CR-0216:

An announcement call comes out over the spaceport communications system, "All passengers boarding flight F-0-GX, please proceed to Gate C. Repeat, all passen..." Around the Clone people come and go, talking animatedly about destinations they have either come from, or are about to embark on a journey to. A black furred Defel, possibly male, sits down beside Crow on the same bench, firing a sideways glance at the soldier before clutching his bag tighter to his chest. Shortly afterward, the pair of armed Trandoshans and their massive loader droid come through the terminal again, with their Devaronian boss waving his arms around in a frenzied manner. One of the lizards, slightly more green in coloration, is nodding its head - while the other, more yellowed in tone, is staring ahead stoically. The loader droid is buzzing angrily, indicating with a gesture that may have been rude, if it had fingers. 

Storming away from the group, the Devaronian heads towards where Crow is sitting, a thundercloud of a look on his face. He pulls out a comm, tapping in a number and then holding it to his ear. A moment later he begins speaking, his voice rasping and clipped. "Yes, hello. No, I haven't left yet. You know the timetable and you know full well I'm here for another three hours." The man's dark red coat drifts out behind him as he starts to pace, turning sharply every few steps to retread the same ugly tiles of the terminal floor. "No. No that's not right at all. Tell him we're bringing less than expected. Well, what do you want me to do, exactly?" he suddenly exclaims, stopping dead in his tracks. "I can't just magic up more of it! Yes, I am very well aware this is going directly to Coruscant. Why do you think I want a full hold before we leave? Oh I don't know... But we're not stopping. Straight from here to Coruscant, provided we don't get any bad luck along the way." His off-pink skin looks flushed, either with anger or desperation. 

 

primusnine, you are more than welcome to suggest any checks you want to do here. Our Devaronian friend isn't trying to hide his conversation. The Defel is certainly a bit dubious of you, however! Thanks to the PMs I know where we are going with this, but don't want you to feel like you are missing out on rolling dice. 

 

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When the human woman, no, human girl, walks to the table Ramani notices that what he had mistaken for some sort of funky makeup from the side-angle was indeed scarring on her face. Charming. And she was younger then he had thought. A little too young to have all those scars. Must have had a really hard life growing up on Ord Mantel.

 

The Balosar gives her a pleasant smile as she sits down. He decides to prod a little. Find out what’s what with the girl. “Aren’t you a little too young to be drinking kaf?” He gives her his best ‘concerned father’ look and continues baiting her, trying to get a reaction. “I didn’t know there was a school holiday today.” Eya. What sort of a name is that? Sounds like a nickname for a street-rat, he decides.

 

As the conversation continues he realizes the Togorian is the brains of the operation. She even got his idiot icebreaker joke, although it had sailed right over the head of the Corellian. He listens as Solan outlines the plan. When he mentions the fact that they need to be careful, in case Ramani or Eya are agents of the law he snorts. “I don’t think any law enforcement agency would hire a Balosar, to be honest. At least not with my, eh, shall way call it extensive off-world resume? And last time I knew, children aren’t recruited for undercover work, ruling out Eya here.”

 

When his pastry and second kaf is brought to the table he amicably tears the sweet treat in two, offering Eya half and stuffing his face with the other half, sipping the burning hot liquid as he swallows. Never be the last one to leave the table. The last person picks up the bill, Ramani thinks to himself, and stands up. “Shall we?” he says, and starts to walk away, turning to wait for his new marks, eh, business partners. And the curious scarred child.

 


Let’s start with the slightly more complicated check, the Discipline. With Nobody’s Fool the difficulty of any Deception checks attempted against the character are upgraded once. This, in effect, upgrades Ramani’s (rather lousy) Discipline skill once.

 

Discipline to spot lies: 1eP+1eD+2eC 2 failures, 2 threat

p--.pngd-th-th.pngc-f.pngc-f.png

 

Yupp, that went about as well as was expected.

 

Now the Perception for Solan.

 

Perception for Solan: 1eA+2eP+2eD+1eC 0 successes, 2 advantage

a-s-a.pngp-a-a.pngp-s-a.pngd--.pngd-f-f.pngc-th-th.png

 

Meh…

 

And the Perception for Grrowv.

 

Perception for Grrowv: 1eA+2eP+3eD 0 successes, 2 advantage

a-s-a.pngp-a-a.pngp-s-a.pngd-f-f.pngd-th.pngd-th.png

 

Well blegh…

 

Perhaps the advantages can give me a boost die for any future checks regarding those two, as Ramani is starting to get a read on them?

 

So, Ramani is clearly not paying much attention. He usually doesn’t care if people are being less than truthful with him, since he always seems to be able to twist any scenario in his favor. And he is clearly not at all concerned that the pair might be armed. He’s sort of expecting everyone to be armed when doing dirty deeds in a place like Ord Mantel.

 

Edited by Kymrel

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And they say I can't have all the luck, mused the eavesdropping Clone, as he sits and patiently waits for the flustered Devaronian to finish his call. It takes some time, the man pacing a time longer while listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. The conversation seemed more like an argument, really. Finally the horned alien bid them farewell and shoved his comm back into the coat. Crow practically leaped to his feet, trying his best to look relaxed and nonchalant. Don't stuff this up now, mate...
 

 

Trying to act Cool: 2eP+1eC+1eD 2 successes, 1 threat

p-s-a.pngp-s-a.pngc-th.pngd-th-th.png

Phew, was totes expecting a despair!

 

"Excuse me there, sir," he begins, gesturing slightly towards the Devaronian with an outstretched hand, "I couldn't help but overhear you mentionin' you were headin' Coruscant way. Any chance I might be able to purchase passage on your tub?" His voice is level and his hand isn't shaking, but there's a nervous energy to Crow, as he sees a chance to get off world, a chance that might slip away. "I have credits, or if you need a spare hand around the ship I can help out. Just whatever works best for ya." With one hand holding his backpack and the other waiting, halfway towards the clearly stressed man, CR-0216 waits for his response. 

Edited by primusnine

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Negotiation: 1eA+2eP+2eD+1eS 0 successes, 2 advantage

a-a-a.pngp-a-a.pngp-s.pngd-f.pngd-th-th.pngs--.png

 

Can I use those two advantage to have made a good impression on him despite the failure?

 

 

 

"I'm only temporarily working for Mr. Keev.  I'm a mediator.  I've established somewhat of a reputation for fair dealing and settling disputes.  Mr. Keev feels that you did not deliver what you promised and instead of lodging a complaint with the authorities he asked me if I could settle things.  Mr. Keev is hoping to expand operations and will rely on dependable suppliers to do so.  He hoped to make you part of that..."

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Eya glances at Ramani and shrugs. "Heard it all before. I'm well aware I look like I'm still in school." And while the job is obviously a bit dubious, it seems straightforward enough. She ignores the proffered pastry, downs the rest of her own cup of kaf, and follows the big-mouthed Balosar—who definitely needs someone to keep him out of trouble. Yes, this should be quite interesting indeed...

Discipline vs Deception: 2eA+1eD+2eC 3 failures, 1 Despair

a--.pnga-s-a.pngd-f-f.pngc-d.pngc-f-th.png

Perception (Solan): 2eA+1eP+2eD+1eC 3 failures, 4 advantage

a-s-a.pnga-a.pngp-a-a.pngd--.pngd-f-f.pngc-f-f.png

Perception (Grrowv): 2eA+1eP+3eD 0 successes, 2 advantage

a-s-a.pnga-a-a.pngp-a-a.pngd-f.pngd-th-th.pngd-th.png

*headdesk*

GOOD GOING, EYA.

Edited by The Shy Ion

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Embeetoo stands in the empty street, trying to gather his thoughts. Such an obnoxious thing, that human boy. He told them to split it amongst themselves not chomp into it like a bit of dewback jerky. The Ithorian was quite tolerable though: quiet, understanding, and good at following orders. Too bad Embeetoo didn’t know Ithorese but he is a combat unit after all, not one of those sniveling protocols units you find scattered around the junkyards. The girl struck him odd, so easily swayed emotionally. One minute she was bawling her eyes out and thrashing to and fro and the next she’s hugging the very leg that probably split he head in the first place? I’ll never understand organic young, thought the medic. A “good droid” indeed…that’s like saying a rancor’s good for balancing on a ball. It has no choice, it wasn’t born to entertain but it’s forced to all the same. That doesn’t make it “good”, that just makes it externally tame…but once free the rancor goes right on doing what it was born to do, and like Embeetoo that was to kill.

And the gall of those pedestrians. Did they really think BAC would try to turn their premier combat models into bacta tanks with legs? Hardly, Baktoid had far too much pride to do something so ridiculous. Or, at least they were until the Empire nationalized them. They should have just kept to their own business anyway, it’s not as if their children were in danger...

“Wait, did she say Clone?” After 15 seconds of internal complaining it finally registered in his systems. A clone, one of the Old Republic’s frontline troops discarded to their own fate, here in Worlport? He briefly thought to catch up to the woman, but decided against it. Think about it, what would someone think if a former Separatist battle unit began questioning them about their former enemy? No one wants that kind of blood on their hands, even Clone blood. Or at least, imaginary Clone blood; the idea was not to kill the man, but to instead sell his services. Information on Porank had come up dry during his five months here besides the fact that he jumped off world. The work was weak as well, just thug services. And the cantina’s klooist was subpar.

Now, a clone must have access to higher end work given their reputation, and maybe this one has a way off world. There was no use hunting his former master while his medical protocol laid in tact anyway unless someone ordered him to ice him. If he didn’t have a way off, the work they put in might give them enough for a ticket, maybe to Jabiim? He knew the area well enough. Worst case scenario, if the clone still had some unresolved problems with the droids and took a shot at least Embeetoo’s self-defense programming would kick in; it has been years since he killed his last clone.

Even if he couldn’t ask the pedestrians where they had seen this clone, he knew someone that might, “Bar Ally”. He was going to the cantina anyway, at least now he has a more productive reason. Embeetoo walked down the dusty road, formulating his approach. After a few minutes he began to pass by a scummy looking Kaf shop, the customers sipping their drinks and eating whatever it is organics eat. Embeetoo, having passed this restraint many a time before, took a passing glance at the rabble stuffing their faces today. The usual: a few morbidly obese businessman, a Balosar whose probably as greasy and slimy on the inside as his dreadlocks are outside, another sleazy human and his Togorian companion (who he’s sue he’s seen at the “Crippled Kinrath”) and a peculiar human youth covered in scars. The last one looked a bit familiar to him, but what did he know? Most human female’s looked the same to him anyway.

Soon, he found himself right in front of the spaceport, turning across the street to his preferred “base”: the aforementioned cantina “The Crippled Kinrath”. The outside was nothing special, a mid-sized building in the old Corellian style albeit with a rather peculiar rounded roof. Outside stood a copper statue of, what else, a kinrath raised upon its hind legs looking out to the spaceport. There was no exterior door with the entrance consisting of an open canopy.

Inside various shades of olive, beige, and white abounded. The middle of the place was dominated by a large oval bar, as to be expected. A few stuffed kinrath hung from their necks overhead, the bar itself being made out of polished and laminated gnarled tree. The lights were pretty dim along everywhere barring the bar itself, with individual lights accommodating the gambling and dining tables for the guests leisure. The place was split in three distinct segments (even though it was one open room), with the bar being in the midst. The gambling den laid to the right, dimmer than the other segments and much warmer. Their laid a large holoscreen showcasing the “Bright Jewel Sector Sabaac Finals” on the far wall, with a blank faced Gossam absolutely devastating the competition. The left side housed the dining tables, along with the bar’s band. It, by contrast, was the brightest place in the whole cantina and the least populated. A gun rack stood in the middle of the complex, so as to keep fights low and thefts even lower.

As he walked toward the central bar Embeetoo began to gaze around the area. The Toydarian Siblings, Otla and Urnure, were in the middle of a rousing performance of “Worm Case”, much to the droid’s delight. Otla sure knew how to play the Ommni Box right, enough to drown out her brother’s horrid kloo butchering. The dining area was sparsly populated with tourists and spacers from the port, grabbing a quick first or last meal on this hunk of rock before heading back out. The gambling den was packed full, mostly filled with Trandoshans. When the Empire came into power, and once open season was declared on Mantellian Savrips again, many hunters flocked to the planet in order to have the hunt of their lives. Often, they would come inside the cantina before or after the hunt, to relax and blow their commission. As long as they had the trophies, it didn’t matter to them. “Bar Ally” always kept the gambling hall hot, just for them and as a hunter once himself (a fact he always reminds his patrons) he often throws in a slab of gizka for his hunter regulars free of charge.

The guards seemed lax today (an albino Barabel, a shaven Whipid and two Red Nikto),, with the Barabel joining in on a game of hintaro with some of the Trandoshans, betting a female Savrip’s hand for a few free rounds of Nubian Ale. This was the usual around here: hunters, gamblers, gambling hunters, tourists and the abundance of spacers found around the bar. The bar was half full with nothing but spacers at this time, with “Bar Ally’s” old kath hound laying to the left next to Embeetoo’s favorite seat. As he went down to sit, the kath looked up at him and wagged his tail in contentment knowing he had nothing to fear from this droid. Embeetoo sate at the farthest left seat, enjoying the sound of the music as he waited for the bartender. He noticed that one of the Trandoshans were sitting at the bar for once, though this one wasn’t dressed as a hunter. More likely a thug on break. “Bar Ally” was starting to wind down as business began to settle, setting Embeetoo’s bi-daily glass of straight alcohol and weekly oil can next to him and holding his long finger up to signified that he needed a minute still.

Embeetoo took the oil and began to spot his joints. He had too much vital equipment on to be dipped into an oil bath. Besides, the nearest “decent” droid repair shop was two hours out on foot. He was never going back to that little Sullustan’s place around the corner, the fool. Trying to take apart his blaster while he bathes? No, not going to happen. And HE got mad when Embeetoo’s self-defense protocol kicked in while the wrinkly thing tried to take it out of his wrist? He should just be glad all the warning shot destroyed was an old GNK droid and count his losses!

Tek Esh, called “Bar Ally” by the automation, finally walked up to the medic droid he had gotten to know over the last five months. He was taller and more muscular than the average Arcona, with a pronounced limp. The old Arcona was dressed in an Iriz fur jacket and long hunting pants, his eyes yellow green due to kicking his salt habit only a few years ago. He was a hunter back on Dantooine, specializing in kinrath elimination (hence the Dantooine decor and name). Many a day he would spend in the crystal caves, mowing down swarms of the arachnids in the defense of the locals. The aging hunter claimed to have even downing a Matriarch but was unable to secure the body (much to his, and his patron’s, dismay). Embeetoo’s first few credible jobs were actually given to him by the barkeep, though later he became more of an informant than an employer. Embeetoo often would hang around the bar into the wee hours during his self-repairing periods and to clean his weapons while keeping his joints nice and oiled. Often, Embeetoo would even act as a quasi-guard, protecting the place while resting and giving the guards a well-deserved break (it must have been the Barabel’s turn). If anyone knew anything about the area, it would be Tek.

Soon, the droid began to speak bluntly while clearing his blade of the rat blood he had almost forgotten about. “Bar Ally, I have heard from…sources that there may be a Clone around these parts.” He clicked his metallic fingers slowly against the laminated bar, “Have you seen or heard anything regarding the sort”?

Edited by Weedles and Fries

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Ramani and Eya:
 

Those checks though... My word. Ok, so neither of you can discern any visible arms or armor, but yes Kymrel you can use those advantages for a better read on the pair in future interactions. The Shy Ion, you seem to believe their offer is completely without guile - perhaps we could put this down to Eya's desperation in wanting a job that pays well and quickly. Eya can also see more of the way they walk and talk now, also granting a boost to future checks. 


Tossing a few credits onto the table, Solan stands and stretches with a loud yawn, before following Kymrel and Eya. Behind him, and in a much quieter fashion, Grrowv gets to her feet and falls into step with the shorter Corellian man. "Well, I hope you two have somewhere in mind, because that chair was pretty comforta... Was that a Battle Droid!?" Solan yelps, before a sound cuff around the back of the head from his hulking Togorian friend shuts him up. 

"Please, Zegg, why in a mosgoth would there be a Battle Droid here?" she replies in a low growl, clearly not wanting an answer. "So, do you have somewhere in mind, Mr. Fenn? I'd say off the main streets somewhere. We could head back to our hotel, unless you've got a preference." She pauses, then growls again, "Blast it, Solan are you already sending the Devaronian a message? We haven't even set the terms of the deal yet! Or how we're going to get the crates to the port."

Solan is clearly sending a text message via his comm, tapping away at the buttons quickly with a sly grin on his face. It seems he is quite eager to get things under way, something Grrowv does not approve of. 

- - - - - - - - - -

CR-0216:

"Is it common to eavesdrop on someone else when they are having a private conversation?" the Devaronian shoots back in response to Crow's question, his rasping voice gaining an edge of irritation beyond the one he had before. He ignores the outstretched hand, considering for a moment. "No matter. I am actually in need of another pair of hands, and I am sure the strong hands of a Clone would be perfect..." he continues with a sneer. From his red coat pocket there is a small hum, then a beeping sound. Glancing down, the horned man says, "One moment, I must take this." Pulling the communicator out again, he reads what appears to be a text message, his sneer turning into a huge smile. Catching himself, the Devaronian realizes he is being too open, and resumes his cold demeanour. "In fact, if you can come with me immediately and help with a small matter during a business deal, you can have your passage on my vessel. The only condition is this - you must agree to obey my commands, to the letter. What say you?" 

 

Nice job staying cool, primus! He was, of course, still wary. The timely message from an unknown sender came in handy, however. You are welcome to roll Negotiation, Charm, Coercion, or something social in order to bend the deal in your favor. The checks for Charm and Negotiation will be against two red, one purple, and for Coercion - two red. 


- - - - - - - - - - 

Torin:
 

Absolutely fine. Aril does not have a problem with you, personally. He is more put out by the fact he has been called on something he doesn't consider under his control. However, he is still amenable to terms - once they have been set. As with primusnine, you can use whatever social check you think suits for discussing these matters. Negotiation is obviously two purple now, as he has relaxed somewhat about Torin. For Charm, it will be against one red, one purple - Aril isn't as easy to sway with flattery, a long term businessman doesn't fall for such cheap tricks!


Aril hums for a moment as he thinks, before saying, "A mediator? This means we have dispute? First time for bad and Mr. Keev send disputer settle huh?" He hops down off of the chair, pacing down the length of the small room as he considers things. "You seem nice man, I not upset with you being here. I see you as man of manners, and civilities." Finally, he stops, and looks up at Dorn. "When you say, make Aril part of expand operations, you mean corner market? Is Mr. Keev make power play in Worlport? I no want to be tied up in deals that attracting crime syndicates. Black Sun own city, own whole planet! When someone makes move, they come ask question, at gun end." The diminutive Sullustan awaits the response of the Kel Dor. 

- - - - - - - - - - 

Embeetoo:

Sighing, the old Arconan scratched at his left forearm with the long fingers of his right hand. It was a lasting habit from someone who had once been addicted to a dangerous substance. Dangerous to Arconan, at least. "How many times," the bartender says, "How many times do I have to tell you, my name is Tek Esh. Not "Bar Ally", you rusting hunk of metal." There is notable affection in his voice, and it's clear that this is an argument the old hunter and the B2 droid have had, and will continue to have, many times. "First of all, what are you doing, going round looking for Clones?" he asks, picking a rag up from behind the counter and wiping some spilled liquid off the bar. "War's been over for years, and you want to kick up trouble? Authorities will come down on you without mercy, you know. Droids don't have the same rights we sentients do."

Finishing the clean up, Tek throws the rag behind him, into a deep sink. It floats for a moment, before small bubbles pop to the surface and the oily, stained piece of fabric submerges into the tepid water. "Let's say I have gotten wind of a Clone wandering around the city... What then? All I've heard was he came in, hung around the low end neighbourhood a couple of days," his yellowing eyes catch the light of the holovid screens as he turns to focus on the droid, "Didn't speak to anyone except a girl, and let's be honest... Clones don't have the same motivations the rest of us quick blooded males do, so it can't have been for that purpose... And then I don't know what. Maybe he left, maybe he's found a quiet place to live. Why are you wanting to know?"
 

What a massive post, Weedles! Great description, thought and effort went into it, I can see! I like that you've given me things to work with on the bartender and cantina front. Thanks for that! You really painted a picture of the establishment, which anyone can see is lively! 


- - - - - - - - - -
 

Wonderful work, one and all! I am starting to get more of a feel for each character now, and your preferred styles of writing and conversation. Thank you for giving me lots to work with in order to get NPCs involved that will be key elements in some parts of the story. If you have any notes, or want anything specific in terms of direction, don't hesitate to let me know. I will, otherwise, continue rolling with the punches and seeing what I can do to motivate everyone in this opening act of our story. As you can see, we are working towards a meeting between all parties - by virtue of a business deal between a Corellian named Solan and a Devaronian whose name we do not yet know! What will be in store for each of you, 

 

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Obviously, Eya was so focused on watching for signs of Imperial involvement that she wasn't looking for the more usual sort of dubiousness. Or something. Eya, you were supposed to be good at Perception! *headdesk*

Four for four rolls failed, plus two dark side on the destiny. Yes, there was a backtime Perception roll, and I failed that one too. The dice are trying to kill me...

Edited by The Shy Ion

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I hope the dice are not trying to kill you, Shy Ion. At least, not in this campaign! To be fair, those rolls were harder than average - what with the two characters you were looking into having some upgrades on things. Really it was meant to be a 50/50, so let's hope that Despair buys you a Triumph when you most need it!

 

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Torin nodded to Aril.  "Mr. Keev just wants to ensure his expansion plans aren't interrupted by unknown variables.  And I'm not privy to the details.  I'm not sure who his competition will be and what, shall we say, "arrangements" he is making in his efforts.  But you know the city at least as well as I do and some of the risks that may come with it.  I believe it will be worth while for you.  But only you can really decide that. 

 

Perhaps, we can come up with a verbal agreement of an understanding and pricing arrangements then Mr Keev can work out further details with you later?"

 

Negotiation: 1eA+2eP+2eD 2 successes, 2 advantage
a-s-s.pngp-a-a.pngp-a-a.pngd-th.pngd-th.png

 

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