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Meira
She don't mess around
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Half awake in our fake empire
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Jan 12, 2020 15:01:11 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Jan 12, 2020 15:01:11 GMT -5
As he leapt upward, Meira turned, trusting in him and the Force. It was well placed. The high pitched zwing! of a deflected blaster bolt just behind her proof that she didn't need. In the next few moments, the two Jedi moved as if with one mind, each whirling their blade to stave off shots from all directions. When Macen spoke, Meira nodded, spinning around him as he leapt upward to the canyon wall. She moved forward, jumping down to the nose of the skiff and then up again, dashing along the top of the cargo transport that lumbered in front of it.
"Keep going!" she shouted to the driver as she moved. The small pilot cabin was crowded as two guards shot from windows, their backs pressed tight against the pilot as he navigated the narrow passage. It was the only armored space on the cargo skiff. It would have to do for them.
Meira continued forward, stopping at the flat front of the cargo skiff. Two speeder bikes, side by side, were between her and the next skiff. Their drivers could do little to maneuver, stuck between the two larger vehicles. The gunners on the backs of the bikes did what they could, shooting wildly into the air, more for cover than actually aiming. Taking a breath, Meira pulled the Force inward, then sprang forward. The leap was not quite strong enough to carry her all the way. She came down with one foot on the nose of one of the speeders, bouncing from it to the other, and then finally catching a hand-hold on the back of the skiff in front of them.
"Keep up the cover!" she encouraged them, before continuing forward.
On this skiff, Meira paused a while, breathing heavy, to recenter. Overhead, Meira saw Macen leap from one side of the canyon to the other and disappear into one of the many caverns. She shook her head, resolving that she'd need to dedicate a little more time to her physical training after this mission was over. Like the last cargo skiff, this one offered little in the way of interior space. It was mostly a large, flat open surface with a small pilot cabin, allowing for maximum cargo space. It was atop the crates on that cargo space where Meira now stood, deflecting shots. Disarming the enemy was not possible in this way, and so she angled the bolts back at their shooters. It was regrettable, but unavoidable. She made what peace she could with it and allowed the thoughts to go, added to the list of things to process in the ever elusive later.
JFM Meira paused after deflecting a bolt, her head turning sideways as if she'd heard someone call her name. JFM? It took a moment, but Macen's thought carried the echo of others, of their meeting back in the city. The video footage, the weapons used. It was the maker's mark. But as quickly as his message had come to her, it was gone -like him dashing forward through the cavers toward...
Meira's eyes widened and she too began to move once again. On the next skiff, several soldiers lined the armored walls, their blasters keeping up a steady barrage of fire into either canyon wall. Meira did not warn them to be careful for Macen. He could keep himself safe from any threat of friendly fire, and it would only cause the guards to hesitate. Rushing into the interior, she found a commander barking orders into his comms.
"There's an ambush ahead." Meira said, extinguishing her saber as she moved into the tight quarters. She sensed the commander's apprehension flare and she continued before he could speak. "We have to keep pressing forward. They've blocked the way back. Macen and I will clear what we can." she said, stepping toward the viewport and pointing. A speeder with a heavy disruptor was just in front of them. "Keep that thing operational and ready, we'll need it when we approach. When we give the signal, concentrate your fire forward, understood?" she said, tapping the comm on her ear. The commander nodded, then turned to order extra guards to the skiff ahead.
Meira climbed to the roof of the skiff and then jumped to a ledge as they rounded a corner in the cavern. With some effort, she pulled herself up to the plateau. On the other side, she could feel Macen moving. Ahead, she could see the raiders waiting in ambush. And they too could see her. Shots began to fire in her direction. It wasn't many, and they flew wild around her. When she ignited her blade once again, more shots aimed in her direction. Good. What attention she could draw would be that many guns not aimed below. She began to run, arms pumping hard with each step, the Force flowing through her.
One speeder separated from the horde that laid in wait, the gunner firing at her over the driver's shoulder. Meira dodged what shots she could, and deflected those she could not. When they came into range, the driver began to fire the forward blasters mounted to the bike. Those, she had no choice but to jump to avoid. She skidded, flipped sideways, then dashed back to her right. Each shot created craters in the dirt around her. She would not be able to keep that up long. Luckily, the bike had come close enough and Meira stopped, breathed deep, and reached out through the Force. She found grip on one of the stabilizer struts and wrenched her arm backward. The bike veered wildly sideways, careening off balance and throwing both the driver and the gunner into the air. The bike tumbled, ignited, and exploded as the two raiders crashed and rolled like rag dolls. Meira closed, finding one unresponsive. The other, however, reached for a back up pistol. With a swing of her blade, Meira severed his hands from his body and rushed on, leaving him behind.
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Ysmir
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279 posts
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Jan 21, 2020 16:24:58 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on Jan 21, 2020 16:24:58 GMT -5
It was a whir of blaster fire and wind blowing by his hair that prefaced his mad dash through the caverns.
The Knight was no stranger to this; in fact, he felt a rush of excitement swell up from within as he disarmed two more of the cavern-dwelling assailants. A single thrust of his palm pinned one against the wall with telekinetic force as he deflected a shot from another, the errant bolt striking a tower of communications equipment before the mercenary was promptly silenced with a single stroke of his saber.
On the comms for the convoy, it was pandemonium.
Very little had managed to go right since they entered the canyon, but Meira and Macen's support was felt in more ways than one. Only a single cargo carrier had been disabled thus far, and the caravan had made it further than any besieged group before it. Though their numbers were certainly outstanding, and their armament more advanced than what seemed possible for a ragtag militant group, their infrastructure and coordination seemed to be dwindling over time as the duo provided invaluable assistantce to the Atlas guard detail. The lack of coherent communication between the spotters in the cavern walls and the ambush at the end of the canyon meant that the unwary raiders were ill-prepared for the sudden appearance of Meira leading the charge from the head of the caravan. The Atlas guards had begun giving back everything they had endured and then some, counterattacking the scattered resistance with a ferociousness spurred on by Meira's encouragement through the Force; to them, it felt as though some otherworldly power had taken hold of their actions and drove them forward toward inevitable victory.
Despite the wall of rock that separated the two, Macen and Meira moved forward with nearly identical pace, rapidly approaching the head of the caravan where the rock face opened to another large gap in the canyon wall; the entry point for the raiders. Whilst the ambush party was distracted by Meira's quick and decisive destruction of one of their speeders, Macen dropped to a knee in the rock wall high above and closed his eyes. With a deep breath through his nose, he pressed his hand to the sandy ground.
He could feel everything as he centered himself; the perfectly timed deflections of blaster bolts, courtesy of Meira's violet blade; the barking of orders from an individual behind the ambush line who seemed to be in charge; the hurried and garbled chatter between the Atlas guards that prepared for a very disadvantageous encounter. The Force gathered within his core like a bundle, and Macen could feel it as he guided it outward and to his limbs, even and balanced. Opening his eyes, the Jedi Knight leapt from the rock wall.
Unseen due to their distraction, he flipped acrobatically through the air and landed behind the ambush party; dust kicked up from his feet where they touched the sandy canyon floor. The moment his hand pressed down, a shockwave of titantic proportions was emitted outward, his body as the center.
The telekinetic burst threw several of the raiders off of their feet. Two speeders in close proximity were sent tumbling into the canyon walls, one bursting into flames as the blunt trauma caused its fuel reserves to burst open. His sudden surprise attack was perfectly timed; the raiders took their attentions off of Meira and the approaching caravan, where the commander she had spoken to earlier prepped the heavy disruptor rain down punishment upon them. The ambush had seen a complete 180 as they were now assaulted from both sides, cut off from communication with their support, and left at the mercy of the Jedi and the Atlas guards who were ready to exact their revenge.
"Well... we all have those days," Macen said with a wry smile as he ignited his lightsaber once more, just in time to begin deflecting the veritable barrage of blaster fire that was levelled in his direction.
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
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Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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Jan 26, 2020 13:00:58 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Jan 26, 2020 13:00:58 GMT -5
The hairs at the back of her neck began to rise. Blurred, but certain, Meira could all but see what was about to come to pass. The ambush team, having seen their lone speeder had not done the trick, were turning her focus onto her. In a moment, their blaster fire would rain down on her and Meira would not be able to dodge or deflect it all. She stopped her forward momentum, feeling the rush of her blood as her heart beat out the staccato of her effort. She pulled on the Force, all her concentration now in the act as she'd all but depleted her reserves of energy. Just a moment longer was all that was needed. It would not come to death, not today.
And just before the first triggers were pulled, just before the seemingly inevitable, Meira felt Macen's movement through the Force. And his appearance behind their lines had stopped the barrage of fire from being unleashed upon her. The corner of her lips rose in a thankful smile as Meira pushed forward again, closing the distance between herself and where Macen had drawn all the attention of the attackers.
The Atlas team also came into range at this time, and the commander ordered the heavy repeater to begin firing on the enemy. The tide had certainly turned. The ambush had turned into a total mess, and the unity the attackers had demonstrated in the past began to crumble. What had started as and organized effort was now devolving into a all-out bid to just survive. Meira moved around the perimeter of the ambush formation, cutting off the escape of any who tried to peel away. And there were several that did. Destroying their vehicles did much of the work of preventing their escape, though some did need to be confronted personally.
As it became obvious, however, that they'd won the day, Meira sought out the Commander and implored him to turn his efforts toward capture. There had been more than enough bloodshed for her taste, and stopping this attack was only a portion of their mission here. Prisoners would provide vital information in the effort of stopping the attacks altogether. Slowly, the fire subsided and Meira felt herself breathing deeper.
"Commander, have your men round up the prisoners. We'll load them onto one of the cargo transports."
"We're taking them with us?" he asked, and Meira could sense the indignation he felt. He'd lost so many personnel in these caravans and this had been his first win in a long while. He was reluctant to show any mercy.
"We still have to deliver the supplies, Commander. And we cannot spare a transport or the guards needed to send them back to the city now. They will ride with the cargo to the camp. Once the supplies are delivered, they can be transported back to the city. This will give us time to interrogate the prisoners. Watchman Oran and I still have much that we can learn about these raiders."
The commander grunted in grudging acceptance and turned to distribute his orders accordingly. Meira watched the man for a moment, but the Force told her that his sense of duty would win out over his anger. The Commander would do his job. That much was certain. And so Meira turned away, moving through the Atlas guards until she found her counterpart.
"Are you alright?" she asked. She got no sense that he was injured in any serious or obvious way, but Meira still did not know the man enough to presume she could sense further through the Force. Many beings -and Jedi were by no means excluded- often took offense to being poked and prodded through the Force. She took a seat on a nearby crate and pulled her canteen from a pack she'd set down. She drank deeply, then offered the Canteen to Macen.
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Ysmir
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Feb 6, 2020 21:09:43 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on Feb 6, 2020 21:09:43 GMT -5
He took a neutral stance in the center of the sandy vista that they now resided in. Dust settled as the conflict came to a draw, whatever raiders left standing having thrown down their arms in surrender, falling to their knees.
Macen deactivated his lightsaber as he felt the warmth of the sun on his back, no longer obscured by the high canyon walls. Directly ahead of the regrouped caravan lay mile upon mile of rolling hills and open plains. Continuing on would be a far sight easier than it had been the last half hour.
But there was a small amount of work to be done first. He clipped the hilt of his weapon onto his belt once he heard Meira issue her order; he turned his attention toward the guardsmen who began to round the surrendering raiders up one by one. They applied basic restraints to each man and woman and corraled them into one of the guard skiffs to be monitored, while others gathered their discarded weaponry and began to load these onto the cargo transports as well. Macen stepped off to the side to be separate from the small gathering, just as Meira emerged from it. Macen offered her a small smile, a pleasant token of a hard-fought victory.
"I think a stray bolt you deflected might have singed my eyebrow," he said in jest as he made way toward her, crossing his arms over his chest, "but I believe I'll survive."
Graciously, he took the canteen and angled his head back, letting the cooling liquid do its job in offering some much needed hydration. Capping off the drink with a satisfied sigh, he handed the canteen back and wiped his lips as his eyes, ever vigilant, peered around the small clearing they occupied. "Honestly, I thought we'd be a bit worse for wear than it turned out. They crumbled surprisingly easily; though it is a bit upsetting some managed to escape. Nothing to be done, though. We couldn't have possibly cut off every avenue even if we tried. There's too much land."
As he scanned the area, his eyes caught something, a glint of sunlight reflecting off of its metallic handle. A vibro-ax lay on the ground a meter or two away from where he and Meira resided. Just as his eyes took notice of it, one of the Atlas guards had knelt down to retrieve it and store it away with the other weapons. Macen stepped forward.
"Wait," he called out, grabbing the guard's attention. The guard regarded Macen curiously as the Jedi walked toward him. "I'll keep that one. I want to inspect it, if it please..." Macen explained to the guard, before adding coyly, "... which it does, seeing as we're your superiors at the moment."
The guard huffed at this, but was in no position to argue. "Fine," he answered plainly, handing the ax to Macen handle first, "but make sure you get it back to the cargo hold by the time we reach the settlement, alright? Boss wants a catalogue of everything they've been usin'."
Macen nodded in agreement to this condition as he took the vibro-ax from the guard, who summarily walked back to join the crowd once more. Macen made his way back to Meira as he inspected the ax in hand; sure enough, the same inscription lay at the head of the handle in gold leaf. JFM. It was good to confirm his suspicions up close and not under the durress of constant blaster fire. When he stood before Meira once more, he held the handle out to her.
"JFM." Macen repeated the inscription plainly, echoing his transmitted thought to her from earlier. "It's the same inscription from the holo footage that Xisk and Watchman Rotul showed us earlier. That can't be a coincidence. Does it ring any bells?"
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
583 likes
Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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Feb 16, 2020 15:59:35 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Feb 16, 2020 15:59:35 GMT -5
Taking the canteen back, Meira splashed some onto a kerchief she pulled from a pocket. She ran the wet fabric across her brow and over the back of her neck before stowing it once again and clipping the canteen back to her belt. She nodded at Macen's assessment of the battle. These raiders were well organized, but apparently not so well that they could adapt to such an unexpected change. Whoever was leading them had real experience, but was also doing so from afar. Were the mastermind here, she imagined they would not have faltered so quickly.
"We'll have to act fast on whatever intelligence we can gather." she said, looking out over the plains. "I don't think there were any vehicles for them to escape on, but if they get back to their base before we can act, our element of surprise is lost."
Macen called out then to an Atlas guard who was picking up a vibroaxe. Meira paid only mild attention as he moved over to talk to the man. Her prosthetic was being sluggish and so she pulled off the detachable portion of her pant leg to gain better access. She slipped it from its socket just below her knee and laid the prosthetic across her lap, opening a panel to reveal the inner workings. Meira did, however, catch how Macen spoke to the guard, and the guard's less than enthusiastic response.
"Have you heard the expression," she said as he returned, not yet looking up from her leg, "you can catch more soka flies with honey than with vinegar?" She glanced up then, seeing the axe he held out for her. She set her leg aside and took the axe, touching lightly at the letters he had mentioned.
"Not sure..." she said, trying to think of what the letters might stand for. "The maker's mark, surely. But..." Closing her eyes, Meira reached through the Force into the weapon. She could see ghostly images of the man that wielded it. He carried it for some time, but further back, she could only see him grabbing it from a pile of other such weapons. Before that, it was too confused with too many like itself to follow cleanly. "Maybe we can find something on the holonet." she offered, handing the axe back to him and taking her leg up once again.
From the head of the caravan, the call to prepare to head out sounded and rippled back through the guards. Bodies all around them hopped up, moving quicker to get their gear stowed once again. Meira made one final adjustment before closing the panel and resetting her prosthetic into the socket. She quickly reattached the pant leg and stood, taking a few test steps and hops. It was well enough. She'd have to give the thing to an expert next time she found one, but it would serve for now.
"That man surrendered." she said, pointing to the axe. "We'll interrogate him at the camp?" she asked, Hopping up onto the back of one of the skiffs, then shuffling sideways to allow Macen to do the same. With their prisoners and captured equipment, the skiffs were full to the brim. She climbed up the outer latter to the roof of the skiff, finding a little more free space aloft, though not much. Soon enough, the caravan began to push forward again.
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Ysmir
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last online Apr 23, 2024 21:28:37 GMT -5
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Feb 29, 2020 16:30:29 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on Feb 29, 2020 16:30:29 GMT -5
Macen could only manage a wry smile at Meira's thinly-veiled reprimanding of his methods; he didn't blame her. Perhaps he was being overzealous, rash even. He'd keep that phrase in mind.
Macen crossed his arms and watched as she reached out through the Force, though felt was the more prudent term. He'd heard of her trademark, the rare ability of psychometry, reading an object's history and seeing it as though through one's own eyes. It was a highly specialized and difficult skill to master, but one it seemed Meira herself had become readily accustom to throughout the years. Once she had finished her brief inspection of the axe, Macen nodded, retrieving it from her by the handle. "Maybe. Wouldn't be farfetched to assume somebody slipped up and left behind a bit of evidence; besides, they're organized, but not professionals."
His head turned toward the voice that howled for the remnants to gather and prepare to move out. Pragmatic, couldn't stay in one place too long. The afternoon sun had begun its long descent down the western skyline, and dusk would soon approach. Macen held the axe in one hand and peered at his companion as she reattached her limb; it would have made him frown somewhat, if he had lesser control. To lose a part of oneself like that was something Macen could scarcely fathom. Macen contained his thoughts soon enough and followed Meira to the skiff as the caravan bustled and prepared to move. Engines hummed and repulsors whirred as each craft was primed for motion.
Macen nodded. "It's not like he'll forget anything by the time we get there. Best we just rest and enjoy the ride."
Before joining Meira on the back of the skiff, Macen identified the guard he had conversed with moments prior and made way to him. Briefly, he tapped the man's shoulder, before presenting to him the axe with a smile and a nod. "As promised." The man accepted the axe with a curt nod of his own, before turning and walking off toward his own ride.
Macen found his way back to the skiff and climbed aboard just as the head of the caravan began moving out. Room was difficult to come by, and the roof was no exception as many guards and relief workers stood about in the cramped space. Nonetheless, he and Meira were able to find some respite near the front of the skiff, stood by a railing that allowed the wind to flow freely through his hair as they began to pick up pace.
Past the precipice of the canyon walls, the caravan climbed a rolling hilltop that opened up into another vast valley. Golden hour had come, and the sun in the distance was an orange globe that projected warm light across the valley and everything within it. Were it not for the prisoners and the marks of battle that marred each vehicle, one might be fooled by the feeling of peace that settled over each individual as the winds blew wistful and lazy. Macen squinted slightly as he stared out across the plains, eyes troubled somewhat by the fierce glow of the setting sun. He turned to look down at Meira.
"I don't want to pry, but, I just find myself curious," Macen began after a modicum of hesitation, "about your injury. How did it happen?"
He had hoped he wasn't overstepping his bounds, attempting to phrase his question as sincerely as he could.
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
583 likes
Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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Mar 7, 2020 13:18:55 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Mar 7, 2020 13:18:55 GMT -5
The skiff began to move again and Meira braced herself against the railing, trying to give others as much space as she could afford without compromising her own comfort too much. Luckily, this last portion of the journey would be the shortest, and they'd be at the camps before the sun fell too low on the horizon. So, as the skiff and the caravan resettled into the rhythm of travel, Meira simply allowed herself to breathe and recenter herself. The warmth of the sun and the cool breeze were a wonderful balance, and the perfect anchor to root herself into the moment. She closed her eyes, focusing on the contrast of warm and cool on her skin. She felt the Force settle around her, calm now in the wake of the fight. Where it had twisted and coiled, ready for use, she allowed it to smooth out once again. When it was as calm as an untouched pool, she opened her eyes again. Glancing up, she found that Macen was looking down at her and she quirked a small smile. She waited, sensing there was something he was considering saying.
"I don't want to pry, but, I just find myself curious,"he began, and Meira's eyes turned back to the open grasslands as she nodded her head. The smile remained as she looked back up when he asked.
"It's alright." she said, addressing the hesitancy that she felt from him. "It's a natural enough question. Taris."
Meira rested her forearms on the railing, leaning her weight onto it as her eyes looked down to study her hands. It'd been some time since she'd talked about it, but not long since she'd thought of it. That planet was never far from her thoughts. How could it be? Near silent and calibrated to her though it was, the prosthetic was a constant, unliving reminder of that place. "After the evacuation was called, I got trapped for a time with some others. We were working our way up to the top of one of the skyscrapers when I fell." she shook her head, ridding herself of the memory of blood and duracrete and rot. "I don't really remember too much of what happened," she said, only a little ashamed of the lie, "But I'd been bitten, and the person that found me had to act fast. It was my leg or my life and... well, I'm sure you can understand that I am thankful they chose the latter."
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Ysmir
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Mar 15, 2020 11:32:21 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on Mar 15, 2020 11:32:21 GMT -5
He had seen many things in his time with the Order. His Master had been struck down before his eyes; he'd fought no small amount of Dark Jedi, all with the intent of snuffing out the Light that he carried; he'd seen the Archeri and the horrors they were capable of on Nar Shaddaa firsthand.
But he wasn't on Taris.
Of course, Macen had heard stories, seen enough holovids to know the unspeakable state of the once-proud planet. It seemed from the regularlity with which history repeated itself that Outer Rim world was simply doomed to destruction, but nobody could have predicted that it would come in such a fashion. As she regailed the tale to him, his mind filled the void left by words with images of panic, chaos, the Rakghoul who roamed the streets and threatened all sentient life. He wondered for a brief moment if the world could ever be truly saved at this point, or if it was simply the pipe dream of a Jedi Knight who thought he could solve everybody's problems.
As the wind blew through his hair, he found his lips parted downward in the most subtle of frowns. His heart pained for her, despite knowing full well that this was simply their life, their livelihood. It wasn't always meditation and peacekeeping. Sometimes, somewhere, the dirty work had to be done. It merely came down to luck of the draw when deciding who was to do it.
"Of course," he said with a nod at her assertion. "A strong survival instinct is something that's hard to leave behind. Glad you still have yours."
Macen found himself questioning what the memories in her mind looked like to her. Was she haunted by it, or had she conquered it? As he studied her face where the black tattoo ran across her brow, it seemed apparent to his practiced eyes that Meira herself wasn't quite sure of the answer to that question. He pulled his gaze from her to stare back out across the rolling hills as they listed lazily by. The sun had begun its descent below the horizon in earnest. They'd arrive on time, but only just.
"Still, I... can't really imagine what it's like, losing a part of yourself in the most literal sense. I've been injured, sure, but in different ways. Though I guess in a certain light, we all carry the scars of our battles," he said, before flicking his eyes back down to Meira. Extending a hand, he placed it upon her shoulder lightly, a show of camraderie. He cast her a smile, and nodded. "What I mean to say is, I admire your strength, Master Valli. Not everybody could go through what you have and come back from it."
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Meira
She don't mess around
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Half awake in our fake empire
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Mar 27, 2020 9:35:20 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Mar 27, 2020 9:35:20 GMT -5
"Many people say that." Meira replied. "And most even believe it. But," her head lifted at the sight of the camp's walls coming into view as they crested one final hill, "You'd be surprised at how simple it is. Every day, you wake up and do the next thing. It's not easy, mind." she added with a chuckle. "But it is simple."
Meira patted Macen's hand on her shoulder, returning his gesture, and then pushed herself away from the railing, moving back to the ladder and descending from the skiff's roof. She hopped to the ground as it slowed, moving carefully though the gate that had been opened for them. All around, the caravan guards swarmed over the transports. Workers from the camp joined in, and soon the whole space was a frenzy of movement. Not far away, Meira saw that a number of refugees had gathered to watch the commotion. They all looked weary, tired. And yet Meira knew that, in spite of the challenges they faced with these raiders disrupting their supply lines, the refugees here on Randon suffered far less than those on other worlds. That, of course, meant very little to the children huddled at the edges of the receiving yard. Hurt was hurt, and these people were hurting.
To that end, Meira turned her attention back to the gate where she could just pick up the voice of the Commander. When her eyes found him, she moved in his direction. As she neared, and his voice resolved into actual words, she began to feel the tension radiating from him. He was in animated discussion with a Mirialan woman. She had her hands crossed tight in front of her, brows furrowed over clear blue eyes. She was shaking her head.
"Talk to her then, if you don't like it!" the Commander growled. He shot Meira a look of frustration. She returned his look with a quick nod of her own head and the Commander turned away, looking for someone to bark orders at.
"I am Master Meira Valli, how may I be of assistance?" Meira said, approaching and bowing slightly from the waist. The woman appraised her, arms still crossed.
"You can start by getting those raider prisoners OUT of this camp!" she said, pointing one hand toward the skiff that held the prisoners. "Do you have any idea the havoc they've caused?"
"Some, yes." Meira replied, earning an indignant huff from the woman. "But that is why Watchman Oran and I are here. We could not spare the time or the guards to send them back to the city. If we are to stop the raiders, once and for all, then we must maintain our element of surprise. Watchman Oran and I need to interrogate the prisoners so that we can learn the location of their base. As soon as we are done, they will be sent back to the city." The woman bit her lip. It was obvious she didn't like this. "You have my word." Meira said, infusing her voice with the serenity of the Force. After a moment, the woman's shoulder slumped just slightly and she gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
"Be quick about it, then." she said.
"Thank you..." Meira trailed, raising her eyebrows with the unspoken question.
"Illeya," she offered. "Illeya Roh. I'm part of the Camp Council. I'll let the others know you're here. We'll likely want all meet with you both, if we can."
"Of course." Meira said, giving the woman a bow and turning back to find Macen. The sooner they completed their interrogations, the better.
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Ysmir
Are you okay?
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last online Apr 23, 2024 21:28:37 GMT -5
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Apr 3, 2020 20:01:01 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on Apr 3, 2020 20:01:01 GMT -5
He nodded to her words and added nothing, for nothing need be added. Although it was only the smallest hint of insight into her thoughts, her beliefs, Macen thought their workings together all the better for it. It was basic Jedi practice to reject emotion and focus solely on serenity, but Macen never took to that teaching too strongly. Quite the contrary, he relished in the bonds he formed with his companions, and went out of his way to ensure there was a better understanding between himself and those he worked with at every available moment.
Such a thing may save a life one day, in his mind.
His eyes followed Meira briefly as she turned away from the railing, before realizing the skiff had begun slowing to a stop. Standing up fully to look over the bustling crowd of workers, Macen's eyes fell upon the sordid sight; the camp was ramshackle at best, though he supposed a tattered home was better than none at all. As the guards and volunteers went about unpacking the supplies, a small group of the refugee presence here had formed. To them, this must have been a blessing, a day they waited many, many weeks for since the Archeri crisis had come to a close. It pained him slightly to imagine those camps on the plains of Randon that failed to receive their shipments, and what might have become of this one had he and Meira failed in their endeavor. But, as he suspected, they hadn't. A small victory was a victory nonetheless.
Macen descended the skiff to exit through the offloading ramp, bobbing and weaving through workers as they quickly and dutifully unloaded the many crates and bags of food, water, and medical equipment. He found the skiff that housed the prisoners and made way toward it. The way was thankfully clear of foot traffic, and he could make out Meira discussing something with a Miralan woman a short distance away.
"You," a raspy voice said. Macen turned his head to regard the Commander as he strode by. "Be quick about this, yeah? I'm sick of hearing about it."
"You have my word, Commander, it won't take long," Macen replied with a smile and short nod of his head. The Commander huffed and nodded back, before continuing on his march toward a group of guards near the Command Boat.
Macen leaned on the side of the skiff for a moment, crossing his arms as he regarded the activity in the small area. Night had set in fully, now, and a pale white glow was cast from the skyline where the moon had begun to appear. It was a welcome relief from the shockingly oppressive heat of the day, and a cool breeze accented the overall feeling of comfort Macen felt as he closed his eyes. But, just as he did, he sensed his partner approaching. When she neared, he stood from his leaning position, then turned to engage the ramp that led into the skiff.
"Something tells me it's a little late to decide on good cop-bad cop. You ready?" he asked as he glanced to Meira. Assuming she confirmed this, he nodded, and began his ascent into the skiff's hold.
The makeshift prison boat served its purpose well enough; eight of the raiders had survived the failed ambush and stayed to finish the fight, with another two knocked into critical condition from the telekinetic repulse Macen had displayed earlier. Thus, pinned to their seats by stun cuffs attached to their ankles, six disgruntled mercenaries were lucid and conscious enough to take note of Macen and Meira's presence with them. One hung his head in silence. Two looked away, likely intentionally. One spat at their feet, earning a quirk of the lip from Macen. The last two shot daggers at the Jedi duo, clearly unamused at the situation they found themselves in. Macen crossed his arms.
"A sorrier lot, I don't think I've ever seen. Care to make this quick and tell us where you're based?" Macen asked gingerly, flicking his gaze between each occupant.
"Eat wampa shite, Jedi dog," one of the two more lucid captives barked. He was shaved bald, with a scarred lip and one milky white eye, the result of cataracts from an unknown injury. His lip curled downward in disgust.
"I've already had lunch, but thanks anyway," Macen quipped, exchanging a quick glance with Meira, "and that's not what I asked. Try again. Because if you don't make this easy, that means it has to be hard; for you, not us."
"Empty threats," moaned the same bald captive, letting out a sickly chuckle as he leaned back and rested his head against the wall. "you lot don't have the stomach for this line of work."
Macen uncrossed his arms and wriggled his nose, turning to look at Meira once more. "You sure about that, friend? Because I didn't mean violence."
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Meira
She don't mess around
2,830 posts
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Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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Apr 6, 2020 9:31:09 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Apr 6, 2020 9:31:09 GMT -5
Meira's brow furrowed at his comment as she approached, but it was accompanied by a slight upturn at the side of her mouth. "Mmhmm." was the only response as she followed Macen up the ramp to where the prisoners were being kept. She kept a step behind Macen. He was, after all, the more physically intimidating of the two. And she preferred to observe. Macen took to the roll of attention grabber as naturally as breathing. Meira chuckled inwardly at that. Of course he did. As he spoke, she watched the prisoners. Breathing steady, she allowed her mind to expand outward. With each moment, her consciousness became aware of the whispers of thought from the group.
The first to register for her were also the most hostile. The man who spit, and those who openly glared at herself and Macen. Their thoughts were of revenge and escape. Their anger bubbled so vividly at the surface that it almost completely hid the fear that lurked behind it. No, the sensation of fear came first from the two that were pointedly looking away. Their thoughts... Meira had to focus a bit more, to block out the venom of the first three. They... feared the Jedi. Understanding came soon after. These must have been from outer rim worlds, where Jedi were not so common place. Meira had encountered such beings before. To them, Jedi were more stories than actual people. And those stories were often larger than life. These two feared they'd be turned to mush.
"...Because if you don't make this easy, that means it has to be hard; for you, not us."
Meira turned her attention back to Macen at hearing these words. So much for honey, she supposed. The bald prisoner seemed unimpressed by the statement, but Macen pressed. Her eyes met his as he looked her way. Fine, I'll play along. She held eye contact with Macen for a moment, then slowly turned her gaze toward the defiant man. There was a shift in the room, subtle at first, but each of the prisoners felt it. The other two angry prisoners pulled back in their seats slightly. The two that were avoiding her gaze glanced over, timid. Meira took a step toward the bald man.
"An' what are you gonna do to me, princess?" he said. But when Meira didn't respond, his eyes darted toward Mace, to the others, and then back to her. Meira stood, hands on her hips, eyes never wavering from his. "Well...? the man barked, trying to look brave.
Beneath the surface though, Meira could feel that all his bravado was empty. The truth was that he was just another grunt. Everything he had was because of the raiders. Before this, he'd been a nobody, barely scraping by. Now, he was still a nobody, but there was finally a chance for something more. But he didn't have what she wanted. He couldn't even navigate his way back to the base if he wanted to. That had always been someone else's job.
When you start your day And your stomach is achin' Gunda Ranch Nerf Bacon It's the oooonly way!
Meira's brow furrowed in confusion. She looked over to Macen. Had it been him?
When you start you day...
No. It wasn't Macen. Meira turned her eyes back to the bald man, but he was now staring at her with a similar look of confusion. She glanced around. The other two angry prisoners were now averting their gaze, thoughts of minds being scrambled making their thoughts similar to the two fearful ones.
It's the oooonly way!... shit! Shitshitshitshit uuuuh... Tasty, tasty... Tasty chew..."
Meira walked over to the man who'd been hanging his head. She stopped with her boots clearly within the man's line of sight. Instantly, the attempts at singing jingles in his mind stopped. For a moment, he didn't move. Meira lowered herself down, resting her forearms on the tops of her thighs as she stooped to gain eye contact with the man. It was the prisoner that had wielded the axe. She could see that now. His face had been unclear before, in the axe's memory. Such things were sometimes difficult to see if she didn't know what she was looking for. But with him now before her, she knew it to be true. He was one that had surrendered. And he apparently knew a bit about the Jedi ability to read minds. Though, what he knew was also not enough to be effective.
"This one." she said, waving her hand to detach his cuffs from the seat. She rose, gesturing for the man to stand as well. He did so, but reluctantly. Meira gestured for him to move toward Macen, and she turned to follow behind him. As they passed the others, the bald man shifted in his chair, as if he were about to say something. Meira turned her gaze on the man, allowing the Force to swell around her slightly. The man's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Meira followed Macen and the prisoner down the ramp, waiting until they were safely away from the skiff before speaking. "A good trick, but it works better in a larger crowd. Public spaces, things like that." They came to a tent and Meira stepped up to open the flap. "In there, it just made you stand out. Have a seat." The tent was empty, save for three chairs. Meira gestured to one, and then took one of the remaining two for herself.
"You made the right decision today, when you surrendered. That will not be overlooked. And you're smart enough to know a thing or two about Jedi, so I'm not going to try to trick you. We can make sure that you are treated fairly, and kept away from those other prisoners. But you have to help us out as well."
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Ysmir
Are you okay?
279 posts
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last online Apr 23, 2024 21:28:37 GMT -5
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Apr 13, 2020 23:44:06 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on Apr 13, 2020 23:44:06 GMT -5
For all his martial prowess, Macen had little talent for mental pursuits.
This wasn't to say he was untalented, but he simply never put in the work for such endeavors like some others might. His focus on bladework and sound body left little time to devote to other areas. As such, when he saw the twinkle in Meira's eye, the edge of his lip quirked up slightly. These grunts, devoted though they may be to their employer, were no more than fodder, and Meira saw right through them. He could feel the shift in the room when she opened her senses to their thoughts, their feelings, and even their pasts. His eyes found each individual in the room as they reacted outwardly to her invasion of their thoughts, subtle though it may have been.
But when she turned back to him with a look of confusion in her eyes, Macen matched hers with one of his own.
What's gotten into her?
He lifted a brow. His mind was emptied of all stray thoughts, and he trusted her enough to let her see that unobstructed. He followed her motions through the room until she zeroed in on the likely culprit, the man who hadn't even lifted his head to turn his eyes to them.
"This one."
Macen smiled. He knew she'd find it.
When the man was released from his binds, Macen turned and walked down the ramp that led back outside to the outskirts of the refugee camp. Once both he and Meira had emerged behind him, he turned to engage the loading ramp once more, mechanical servos hissing and whirring as it folded up and closed, leaving the other prisoners in their cell.
The refugee tent was sparsely furnished, save a desk, a ragged bedroll, and three chairs, two of which Meira and the prisoner now occupied. Dim moonlight filtered in through the roof of the tent, indicative of the thin and cheaply procured fabric that it consisted of. Rather than sit, the restless Macen leaned his palms against the back of the third chair, looking to Meira as she outlined her offer to the man. It seemed reasonable enough to him.
"I stand by her words. You scratch our back, we scratch yours," Macen added, trying out a bit of that honey Meira had mentioned earlier.
The man in the chair shifted uncomfortably for a moment, his foot tapping rapidly against the sandy floor as his anxieties swelled. The moment he sensed this, Macen's brows furrowed. He could feel that the man knew better than to try anything, but it seemed as though his worries didn't stem from his imprisonment; no, they were rooted somewhere else. The self-defense, the silence... as Meira gleaned, he knew much more than his cohorts, and seemed apprehensive about that fact. Endangered.
"You're worried you'll be targeted for this, aren't you?" Macen asked as he rounded the chair, taking a seat nearby Meira. By putting himself on the same level as the man, he hoped to reach more common ground.
The man was well-built, not burly but not thin by any means, with a shade of dark hairs coming in from a fresh buzzcut. His face was adorned by a full black beard that seemed a day or two overdue for a trim. His dark eyebrows matched the shade of the beard, and the left one had a fierce and stark scar running through the middle. Cold, grey eyes flicked between the two Jedi sat across from him as he swallowed thickly.
"And nothing you two can do will stop it," the man retorted, casting his eyes back down at his feet.
Macen exchanged a look with Meira.
Turning back to the man, he inched forward on the seat. "What's your name?"
The man looked up briefly from his feet, but turned his eyes back downward just as quickly. "Alvar," he said in a hushed tone.
"Well, Alvar," Macen began in a sigh, interlocking his fingers as he rested his elbows on his thighs, "regardless of what you might think, we're not here to hurt anyone or allow anyone to get hurt. Unlike others, we treat our prisoners like people, especially the ones who help us do our jobs. You have my word that if you point us in the right direction, you'll be long offworld before any news reaches back that you cooperated -- if it even gets that far, which I seriously doubt."
Macen spoke with a sincerity that he seemed to lack since he and Meira's conversation about home on the dropship the day prior. Perhaps he sympathized with the man, or perhaps he merely believed him to be something of a pawn in a more sinister affair that he wasn't privvy to when he signed up. Regardless, the words seemed to calm Alvar's racing heart, and the grizzled man took a heave of a breath before lifting his eyes once more.
"Okay..." Alvar said in a huff, "...okay."
He scooted forward on the seat while Macen gave Meira a look, and a small nod. Alvar rubbed his hands together.
"You got a map?"
Macen ducked out of the tent's entry flap, holding it open for his companion as she followed suit. Two of the caravan guards escorted Alvar outside and to a separate skiff, having been thoroughly instructed by Macen that he was to be afforded great care in seeing his safe transport back to Atlas' corporate HQ.
After Alvar's affairs were settled, Macen held the holorecorder with the coordinates Alvar had provided them with. He bounced it in his hand gently, nodding his head as he looked to Meira. "Honey, not vinegar... right."
With a small smile he slipped the recorder into his pocket, turning a quick upward glance to the moonlit sky as he and Meira began their short trek to the Camp Council's tent.
Outside, the Commander -- Wallor, Macen thought his name was -- released a sigh.
"About time," Wallor said with a wriggle of his nose, "but I guess it couldn't be helped. Find anything?"
"We did," Macen affirmed.
"Right. Well, in you go, then. We'll talk details inside." Wallor nodded toward the tent flap, holding it open for Macen and Meira to clamber into.
The interior of the Council Tent was more luxuriously decorated than any other refugee pitch Macen had seen, but this was an extremely relative observation given the state of things around the encampment. From what it seemed, these refugees were a mixture of scattered denizens of various worlds left ravaged by the Archeri crisis, garnishing their council seats with memorabilia from their homes to preserve a sense of cultural identity. That was all they had left.
The four councillors sat in their chairs as Macen, Meira, and Wallor entered, all regarding the trio with warm nods. Macen returned the gesture and was the first to speak.
"Watchman Oran. Thank you for having us," he introduced himself, gesturing to Meira. "Master Valli and I are glad to have been able to help you and your people."
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Meira
She don't mess around
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Half awake in our fake empire
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last online May 11, 2023 23:01:34 GMT -5
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Apr 22, 2020 9:44:36 GMT -5
Post by Meira on Apr 22, 2020 9:44:36 GMT -5
Meira's mind was still tuned toward the prisoner. She was not trying to dip into his thoughts or memories. She'd told him there'd be no tricks. She simply allowed her presence to linger near the surface, sensing the emotions that flared. At this level, detail was not really an option. Passively, she could sense a general mood, maybe a fleeting thought of something specific, but surface level thoughts rarely held more than that. Detail required conscious effort for a mind to hold onto. What she felt from the man matched what any non-Jedi could see with their own eyes. He was nervous. But it helped to know that he wasn't just putting on a show. That had been a possibility, she knew. When they pulled him from the others, Meira had wondered if the man would reveal that it was just an act. With the amount of fear and anger the others were putting off, Meira hadn't been able to know for certain without being more invasive. But seeing him now, without the noise of his companions, she could be more certain that his fears were genuine.
Macen joined in, and Meira noted the lighter touch in his tone and posture. His aura in general had softened a bit and she watched him as well as he gently pressed the prisoner. He named the man's fear, and Meira sensed a flare up of anxiety in the prisoner. There was a flash of... something. A face? It was gone as quickly as it appeared. It wasn't just that he feared selling out the others. No, there was something more. She turned her focus back on the man. Alvar. Well done, she thought. Macen was developing rapport with the man very quickly. Indeed, Meira was sensing that she was hardly needed here, beyond simply keeping her own senses alert for any sign of deceit. But, while a sense of malaise still hung on the man like a sodden cloak, there were moments of something warmer bubbling to the surface. Hope, she realized. Alvar had caught a glimpse of light at the end of a dark tunnel and was beginning to realize it could be within reach.
The night air was cool against her skin as they stepped out of the tent. Though they were on the outskirts, the sounds of conversations and bodies moving about in the business of camp life carried across the tent tops. The excitement of the day was settling and soon the people would be dropping off into whatever peace sleep might afford them. She knew it would not last long -theirs had been one success in a long line of failed supply deliveries- the fear would soon return. That is, unless she and Macen put an end to the attacks once and for all.
"Honey, not vinegar... right."
"Told you so." Meira quipped, flashing Macen a quick smile before Wallor intercepted them outside the Council tent.
"Thank you, Commander." Meira said as she ducked through the opening Wallor held for her and Macen.
She came to a stop beside Macen. The two stood in the relative center of the tent, facing the four Council members whose chairs were placed opposite the tent's entrance. Wallor stood a step behind the two Jedi, at ease. Meira dipped her head toward the Council Members as Macen made their introduction.
Illeya Roh, the Mirialan woman who'd confronted them earlier, sat at the far left of the group. She appeared to be the youngest on the Council. She regarded the Jedi with a warmer expression than when the caravan arrived. It seemed a bit of time had settled her agitation. Beside her, A male Nimbanel was watching them both with curious eyes. Rounding out the group was a male Twi'lek and a female human. These two appeared to be late in years. The woman's hair was pure white, a stark contrast to her brown skin, and the Twi'lek's yellow skin was wrinkled and mottled.
"Welcome, Jedi." said the Nimbanel, gesturing toward them both with one hand. "We must begin by expressing our most sincere gratitude to you for your assistance in assuring the delivery of our supplies. They were much needed." he said, placing his hand to his chest and dipping his head. The others nodded their agreement. "And Commander Wallor," he continued, "as always, we are grateful to you and your men, for risking your lives to help our people." From behind the Jedi, Wallor gave a quick nod of acknowledgement.
"Were you able to get the information you needed?" Illeya asked.
"We were." Meira said, stepping forward slightly. "And as promised, the prisoners will be leaving with the caravan."
"And you?" asked the Twi'lek. "Will you be going with them as well?"
"No." Meira replied. "Watchman Oran managed to get the location of the raiders' base from one of the prisoners. We will go there. We mean to ensure that these attacks will never happen again."
"Alone?" the human woman asked, shifting in her seat slightly. "But... surely there are too many..."
"Right now," Meira said before any further interjections could occur, "we have the element of surprise. But that window is quickly closing. Soon, the raiders will realize their efforts today failed. Wallor's men and vehicles are not outfitted for an assault, and it would take too long to return to the city to refit. We will be faster on our own and will be able to infiltrate the raiders' base undetected."
"How?" asked Illeya.
"We have our ways." Meira replied.
Less than an hour later, the caravan skiffs were lined up outside the camp walls, floodlights pushing back the darkness of the night in sharp circles around each vehicle. Tiny insects sipped through the air near the lights as the Atlas guards rushed to their positions. Wallor barked his orders as he strode past the skiffs toward the front of the line. All was prepared for the return journey to the city.
Meira emerged from one of the skiffs at the back of the line. Gone was the Atlas guard uniform, now replaced by simple clothing provided to her by Illeya, though she kept the goggles. Over this, she wore a mismatch of armor, pieces scrounged from what had been taken from the prisoners. It was a good disguise, she thought, all things considered. Nearby, a speeder waited for her and Macen, provided to them by the Council. She saw her companion standing by it. After waving a quick farewell to Wallor, Meira approached Macen.
"Well," she said, holding her arms out to show the final product of her efforts, "how do I look?"
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Ysmir
Are you okay?
279 posts
163 likes
BUSTAH WOLF!
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last online Apr 23, 2024 21:28:37 GMT -5
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May 4, 2020 12:21:48 GMT -5
Post by Ysmir on May 4, 2020 12:21:48 GMT -5
Such a coalition of species was usually only seen within the halls of Jedi Temples, or at isolated embassies scattered across the Galaxy. It was a rare and peculiar thing to see them gathered here under a single roof, unified by a single cause, but Macen supposed tragedy had a way of bringing people together. That was, perhaps, the only positive thing one could draw from it.
When he had dispensed with his niceties and introductions, he remained silent for the rest of the interaction, letting Meira take the reigns. He examined each councillor closely, though their attentions were fixed on Master Valli. He could see why this place was so important; these were no ordinary refugees, and they weren't thrust into their positions as leaders of their people by happenstance. He'd heard tell of how elections of a certain nature were undertaken at these relief sites to establish a hierarchy, and it wasn't just on Randon. If nothing else, it showed the resilience and strength of sentient life throughout the Galaxy that, in the absence of Republic guidance, they were capable of finding their own way. It filled Macen with a sense of hope.
He looked to Meira when she mentioned the map they had extrapolated from the raider, Alvar. When she outlined their thoughts on the matter, he nodded in affirmation toward the somewhat stunned councillors. On the surface, it seemed a fool's errand to track down such a large conglomerate of outlaws. But Macen had faced down worse odds, and what Meira spoke was true; they'd be on high security no doubt, knowing that some of their own had been captured, but they'd never be able to see this coming. Macen stepped forward.
"Here's what we know..."
Macen gently swatted away an errant fly that buzzed too close to his cheek. The dark had finally come in earnest, and outside the limits of the encampment, the rolling hills and grasslands of Randon were shadowed, illuminated only slightly by the yellowish moon high in the sky. That moon was accompanied by other, fainter stellar objects that made up the bulk of the Randon system. Visible, but barely so.
He leaned against the speeder lent to them in confidence by the refugee council. It was a tad ramshackle, with some exterior panelling missing here and there, but Macen was of the opinion that this would only strengthen the efficiency of their disguise. Besides, all it was really necessary for was to get them from point A to point B. Beyond that, it had no further use.
Macen had left with Wallor and the council a copy of the coordinates that they had coerced from Alvar. This had dual purpose; in case anything happened to go wrong on he and Meira's infiltration, and so they could effectively monitor traffic to and from that area of the plains. Atlas had sufficiently strong surveillance technology to cover a majority of the region outside of the capital, but they still had to pick and choose their targets; these holes allowed outlaws like the raiders to operate in the shadows. Macen hoped this would rectify that, at least somewhat.
He had stripped the Atlas fatigues for his minimalistic tunic, and wore over it a tattered shemagh of black and grey that covered his neck and shoulders, which could be lifted to cover his face if need be. A black knit cap covered his locks. It was makeshift, but passable, as he had seen many of the outlaws they had encountered dressed in a similar manner. And in the dead of night, the men they'd soon run afoul of would likely not notice anything was amiss until it was too late. His head perked up when Meira approached.
He stood from the speeder, giving her a quick once over. He nodded. "Like one of the bad guys. Perfect."
He rounded the side of the speeder to the control console and primed the engines. A whirring windy noise accompanied the roar of the repulsors as they came to life, and the speeder wobbled slightly before the flight stabilizers initialized and prepped it for travel. He looked at Meira once more.
"Wallor was kind enough to lend us a few things," Macen noted as he went to the back of the speeder, flipping the top of a saddlebag open. Inside where two pairs of macrobinoculars, a two-way communication device, and some surplus supplies from the caravan that could be used as entry leverage in case the raiders didn't buy whatever half-baked story they came up with for their... extended absence. He clamped the saddlebag down once more and swung his leg over the speeder in the driver's seat. He reached down to his belt and retrieved his goggles, pulling them on over his head.
"Let's go crash their little party."
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