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Periscope Up
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| Auzdein | Date: Tuesday, 07 Jun 2011, 6:34 PM | Message # 1 |
 Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| It had been years since his contract had concluded with the local military of the world he had once -rather reluctantly- called home. Years more had passed since he had finally been able to restabilize his mind and body after all that had happened, surprising and taxing him beyond anything he had heard about or studied growing up. Finding himself still rather lethargic and listless, he roamed aimlessly from system to system, even making a few brief ventures to the neighboring galaxies, before accepting his lot in life -in all of his 'chapters'- as a nomad, a criminal, and a soul too unique to ever settle on a mate or any of the established cultures.
His ship handled well as it left the atmosphere of another in a now seemingly endless succession of worlds. There was tension in his chest and neck, his mind was astray; eyes staring off blankly at a corner of the cockpit as the autopilot took the helm and spirited him upward and on toward the latest set of coordinates he had fed it, and his legs would sporadically twitch beneath the control console. Doctors had called it 'PTSD', but he had scoffed at that, half-jokingly calling it Current Traumatic Stress Disorder; it was his current circumstances that kept him on-edge, not his past ones. The still-young Auzdein found it impossible to fit in, being agitated everywhere he had been and sought refuge.
The atmosphere began to show amoebic black patches that slowly took over the more colorful stretches, as if a deity was erasing the sky during his small transport ship's ascent from surface through stratosphere. The brilliant spattering of twinkling, hue-shifting star specks appeared before his weary, wandering eyes. It no longer captured his heart and imagination; the years and experiences had worn heavily upon his spirit, and views like this were all but boring at this point; commonplace for the eternal explorer still unsure of where he fit in to all this mess they called 'Creation'.
Almost hoping he would run into trouble, get abducted or boarded, or even get press-ganged somewhere along the way, he left the helm, trusting in The Fates and his flight computer, and found himself taking another of the anxiety and sleep medications he had hated from the first day they practically forced him to take one. In an hour, it at long last kicked in, and his restless tossing and turning began to settle until his heavy eyelids found their resting positions and his mind slipped back into the Astral. Even in the dream realm, he wished for better surprises and fortunes than in chapters past, and as his physical body shifted and mumbled incoherent words faded by the veil between realities, his consciousness floated through sleep-warped memories of the city he had started building so very far away...Added (07 Jun 2011, 7:34 PM)
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((I left his location as a variable, so if anyone would like to bump into him or his ship, feel free to pick the route or world he is near or reaching.))
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
Message edited by Auzdein - Tuesday, 07 Jun 2011, 2:39 AM |
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| Tresk_Veldan | Date: Saturday, 11 Jun 2011, 6:41 PM | Message # 2 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 7
Status: Offline
| The distress beacon had been activated for some time now; a call for help that, until now, had seemed to echo unheeded into the void. The Outer Rim was an untamed wilderness, fraught with both danger and opportunity; the ship growing steadily closer in Auzdein's viewport a silent reminder of the risk one takes while traversing this region of space. A message accompanied the beacon, the thick accent of a native Bothan easily detectable amongst the sound of a chaotic skirmish.
This is the Sombre Maiden requesting immediate assistance! Our ship's been attacked by an Imperial patrol and we've lost life support! I repeat, our ship has been attacked by an Imperial patrol and we are requesting immediate assistance!
There was more to the message, but it was lost amidst a cacophony of screams and the roar of engines. The ship in question: a derelict Barloz-class freighter, listed amongst a scattering of various wreckage, smoke and fire venting from the cargo bay and engines, as dead as a fish on land. Perhaps it was worth a look, perhaps not, but the distress call wouldn't go away; and without immediate aid, whomever may have survived would soon fall prey to hunger or the return of another Imperial ship.
Tresk "Winter" Veldan
Bothan Spynet Operative
Message edited by Tresk_Veldan - Saturday, 11 Jun 2011, 6:43 PM |
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| Auzdein | Date: Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 5:50 PM | Message # 3 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| Finally, he had been able to sleep, and it was with much disorientation and disappointment that he did reawaken. Something had been trying to get his attention, he felt sure. Looking around, he reached over and touched the panel that illuminated some of his small berthing in the soft glow of indirect lightning. He glanced at the small screen that displayed the times of home, relative, and local, as well as his coordinates, heading, and any alert messages. Rubbing his chest out of habit, he tried to flex his irises to focus in on what the screen was showing, but then gave up and lied back down, waiting as patiently as someone like him could for his eyeballs to start working on their own.
A few moments passed. Sleep tempted him to try it out again. Parts of his body felt lethargic, while others were antsy to get moving again. Profanities passed through his mind, then a grimace across his face as another wave of depression at his weakened state threatened to reveal itself with heavy eyelids and welling tears. 'Get up, you pussy,' the instructor's voice in his head hounded him. The motivation just wasn't in him, and he'd long ago given up trying to rekindle it. 'Get up.' Something finally convinced him to, and he sat up with a weary look, starting his stretches and swinging his legs out of the narrow bed built into a cavity in the bulkhead.
His eyes were working better now, so he tried reading the characters on the screen again while speculating that demotivation had started affecting even whether or not his irises would respond to his commands... possibly even whether or not his retinal nerve would carry a signal... 'Snap out of it, moron. No 'what ifs'.' He stood up, reached for where he remembered some of his clean clothing was hanging, and got dressed, patting down his pockets to feel for the tell-tale lumps of all the things that should be in them.
Gulping and licking his lips to return some moisture to them, he took a pull from his water bottle and elbow tapped the panel to open the cockpit's hatch. An elaboration on the alert message from the small screen in his room was now displayed for him on one of the larger control console monitors, blinking at him incessantly, pressing him for a course of action. He told the flight computer to disengage the autopilot and begin scanning the freighter for life to see if there was even a point in docking with it. Looking out the port side porthole of his cockpit, he could see it was in bad shape and likely not a good place to even loot.
A minute later, his ship was slowly coming up alongside it to secure a docking seal. The scans had indicated enough structural integrity remained that fatal ruptures or catastrophic failures were unlikely, provided nothing else attacked it. Standing in the modular airlock antechamber, still yawning and stretching inside his body-conforming spacesuit, he said a little prayer that whatever happened on the other side of the hatch, it would give him a restored sense of purpose... minus all of the draining stuff he'd had more than his fair share of so far along his way.
The seal was achieved, equilibrium came next, his airlock hatch unlocked and slid out of the way, and he stepped in to the first accessible compartment of the freighter. The speaker on his helmet powered on, and as he got the first inner hatch to move out of his way, he called out in the only language he knew, "Heard your call. Here to help. Where are you?" The scans had detected the life signs of someone inside, but they could have moved since he'd been suiting up aboard his own ship, and he thought that -whatever species and persuasion the person might be- they'd appreciate hearing an honest voice.
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
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| Tresk_Veldan | Date: Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 8:45 PM | Message # 4 |
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Private
Group: Users
Messages: 7
Status: Offline
| Utter silence would be his only greeting; utter silence and a disconcerting feeling of uneasiness, perhaps abject terror. The corridor he'd stepped in to branched off in three separate directions, though the shifting darkness and occasional shower of sparks did little to offer him an explanation of where those hallways led. Every step, every subtle shift in balance, they all affected the ship in some way, be it the creaking of an unstable bulkhead or the unholy groaning of a ship struggling to stay together. A thin line of blood, just starting to dry, by the looks of it; ran along the starboard corridor and towards an impenetrable veil of black, someone was injured, and wherever they were, they'd need assistance, fast.
Another noise, then, the smell of charred circuitry a refreshing change from the staleness of the air; and the hallway with the blood trail suddenly became illuminated at the far end. One light, dying and struggling in vain to push back the tide of unrelenting darkness, seemed to be beckoning Auzdein to it, calling him. Were he to follow it, perhaps he'd find answers, maybe even survivors. For now, though, amidst the trembling of the dying vessel and the subtle hissing of a gas leak, only more questions would come to him, would need answering.
Tresk "Winter" Veldan
Bothan Spynet Operative
Message edited by Tresk_Veldan - Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 8:49 PM |
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| Auzdein | Date: Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 10:24 PM | Message # 5 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| His training started to come back to him, and, for the time being, it was enough to make him forget about whatever it was that often caused the equally frightening tension in his chest. As the ship around him creaked and groaned, he wondered how accurate his scans had been; was this ship really stable enough to be in?
Stepping over any debris in his way, and being careful not to make contact with any of the loose cables or other things sparking, he powered on his lamps and began moving room to room in a methodical, rehearsed search for survivors. The first room, of course, would be the one connected to the blood trail.
He approached the hatch beneath the flickering light, gave it a polite but loud knock, identified himself, then began his tests to see how best to open it...
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
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| Tresk_Veldan | Date: Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 10:48 PM | Message # 6 |
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Private
Group: Users
Messages: 7
Status: Offline
| The hatch, upon further observation, seemed to have been sealed shut from the inside; whether that was a malfunction within the ship's mainframe, or a deliberate attempt to keep something out, that remained to be seen. No response came from behind the hatch, but the blood trail seemed to taper off and then abruptly end there. While Auzdein was left to his own devices, the darkness in the hallway behind him seemed to shift, almost as if it was following him. Indeed, something was following him, or rather, someone. The sound of steel on leather, much like that of a gun quickly leaving it's holster, and the same thick Bothan accent soon echoed from the shadows of the blood-stained hallway.
"You reach for anything, and you die. Turn around, slowly... please." That last pleasantry seemed forced, it was but an afterthought and really held no actual weight. The figure holding the gun most certainly wasn't in the mood for anything but absolute obedience at this point.
Were he to turn, the figure would then step forth from the darkness, the dim glow of sparks and the failing lights reflecting off the steel patch that concealed the mangled eye of the Bothan known as Tresk Veldan. Blaster steadied and trained on the back of Auzdein's head, Tresk took another step closer and spoke up again, his tone cold and almost mechanical; this wasn't the first time he'd held the life of another in his grip, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. One false move, one attempt to do anything but what he was instructed to do, and Auzdein would quickly find his skull lacking the capacity to hold in his brain. "Are you Imperial? Pirate? Or are you just here to take what you can off our corpses?"
Tresk "Winter" Veldan
Bothan Spynet Operative
Message edited by Tresk_Veldan - Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 10:51 PM |
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| Grist_Vrifey | Date: Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 11:50 PM | Message # 7 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 2
Status: Offline
| Bothese, it was said, was a beautiful language. It was a language of many subtleties, and though it had its share of hard 'K's, they were often softened with an 'S' (as in "Tresk"). Hearing a Bothan speak it (as only a Bothan could), it tended to have an almost soothing quality, and it was for this reason that poetry readings in Bothese were quite popular some decades ago, prior to the Clone Wars. The words that carried down the corridor now, however, were not soothing at all—indeed, even Auzdein would have no problem discerning an admonishing tone from what could only have been another Bothan. It was directed not at Auzdein, however, but at Tresk.
Presently, the lights flickered on in the corridor, making it somewhat more inviting (except for the blood on the floor and, of course, the blaster to Auzdein's head) and also revealing the other Bothan, whose hand was on the light switch. Half-hidden behind an open hatch, he was standing farther up the corridor—so that Auzdein had a Bothan to his front and his rear—and holding a formidable Outland rifle he'd probably liberated from the Sombre Maiden's armory. "He could be here to help us," he added, this time in Basic. He was Grist Vri'fey, also a Bothan operative and, for this assignment, Tresk's partner. It was quite apparent though, from the damage to the ship and to Grist's splinted and bloodied thigh, that the assignment hadn't gone as well as the Bothans would have preferred.
"How about it, Auzdein von Schäfer?" Grist asked the Human, having heard him identify himself a moment ago. His accent couldn't quite master the name, however. "Are you here to help us?" He took care not to aim the rifle at Auzdein. Tresk had that covered, anyway.
Grist Vri'fey
Bothan Spynet
Message edited by Grist_Vrifey - Sunday, 12 Jun 2011, 11:55 PM |
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| Auzdein | Date: Monday, 13 Jun 2011, 2:13 PM | Message # 8 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| A rush of adrenalin surged through his veins, leaving him feeling cold and ready, but his training continued to hold his reins, and he obeyed the familiar voice from the distress message. Keeping his hands open and at his sides, he slowly turned around so the Bothan could see his Human face through the clear, front dome of his spacesuit's helmet. "I was passing by with no particular destination in mind. I heard your mayday and came to investigate. I have looted corpses in times of need before, and told the men I served with to do the same to me, but on this day I sought only to bandage whomever was bleeding behind this door." As he spoke, his accent seemed to change many times, indicating his extensive travels, and there was sincerity in his eyes, along with a hint of his natural aggression and resistance to having a weapon pointed at his face, but also an odd and unmistakable calm, as if he was accepting this as the possible end of his entire story. He had squared off with Death many times before.
When the second Bothan made his presence known, Auz's eyes remained dutifully toward the first of them, but he answered the other one's question in the same tone made possible by his decades of training to disregard the majority of any threatening situation. His musical ear and the customs of his home-city caused his accent to begin to sound remarkably like that of the two Bothans' own; Auz's people considered mimicry to be a form of comfort honoring those being mimicked. "Considering if I do not, you will paint the walls of your ship with my brains, I think it safe to say I am definitely here to help." His dimples started to flicker into forming; his facial expression indicating it was just a light-hearted joke in his usual attempt to add dark, front-lines humor to the worst of any situation.
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
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| Tresk_Veldan | Date: Tuesday, 14 Jun 2011, 5:37 PM | Message # 9 |
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Private
Group: Users
Messages: 7
Status: Offline
| Grist often had this nasty habit of believing in people (were Tresk allowed to comment on it, he'd have called it 'stupidity'). In their line of work, trust compromised judgement; left one totally unsuspecting of a knife in the back, the older Bothan having served so long that he knew all-too-well the ramifications of a betrayal he never saw coming. The missing eye was evidence of that, and it was a lesson he'd promised himself he'd never forget. Still, there was a difference between blind trust, and trusting someone with a gun pointed at them; so his pistol lowered and he silently counted backwards in his head. It was an odd practice to some, but whatever it took to filter out the adrenaline and let his heart rate return to normal.
His next words were to his partner, the subtle differences in their Bothese were quite discernible to a native speaker, not so much for a person of a different species; but his tone was apologetic as elongated ears lowered to about eye level, indicative of a slightly more passive temperament than he'd shown thus far. Switching back to Basic, Tresk closed the gap between himself and the human, giving him a once-over with his remaining eye to locate any concealed weaponry, fortunately, there was none to be found. "I apologize, human, with our luck recently you're the first one we've come across that hasn't tried to shoot us on sight." Steely gaze drifted across the hall to Grist, nodding slightly and implying that the wounded Bothan should open the sealed hatch so they could gather their gear.
"Your name is.. Auz-de-een, correct? It is strange, different from other humans, it's a bit difficult for me to grasp. Auz-de-een, my partner here is wounded, are there medical supplies onboard your ship?"
Tresk "Winter" Veldan
Bothan Spynet Operative
Message edited by Tresk_Veldan - Tuesday, 14 Jun 2011, 5:38 PM |
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| Auzdein | Date: Tuesday, 14 Jun 2011, 9:50 PM | Message # 10 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| His expression softened a bit when he noticed the changing positioning of the first Bothan's ears, marveling at how it looked in-person after he'd imagined and heard about it from so long ago. He spoke not a word of Bothese, however, so any aspects of their language were lost to him in this initial exposure. He hadn't, in fact, even known that Bothans existed, let alone how they conversed.
With the first blaster no longer sighted in on his head, he took in a relieved breath and blinked a few times as his brow rose and fell back to its normal position upon the base of his forehead. His normal breathing pattern had returned to him, and he, too, now executed a few mind tricks to help him calm back down. Wondering if this would trigger another of his annoying and depressing panic attacks, his expression likely betrayed this moment of worry with his eyes moving off to the side and then down to the Bothans' ship's deck plating, almost tearing up. He hated being this uncertain, and so weak; he used to be a great warrior, ...but now he could barely even make it through a meal, a movie, or one night.
"My trigger-happy days are long over, so no worries," he offered a friendly smile to Tresk. "I don't blame you for keeping your guard up; I've rarely met a human I felt I could trust. It's made me wonder if I really am one of their kind, and hope that I merely resemble them." He listened to how the Bothan's vocal signature struck him as Tresk sounded out his first name. "Oz-dyne," he politely offered a bit of minor, phonetic, constructive criticism.
He turned to look over at Grist, then answered and inquired to both of them. "I am considered 'strange' and 'different' by many other humans. I guess my matched name suits me then," another offered smile. "I do have some medical supplies. Help yourselves to them. You surely must know more about the care of your species than I do at the moment. I would be better help if you didn't mind me carrying some of your possessions aboard."
If granted permission, he would then ask if there were any guidelines for the care of special items, such as fragile containers or religious objects. Years earlier, he had taught many thousands of troops how to investigate sensitive sites, and recalled every bit of it.
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
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| Grist_Vrifey | Date: Monday, 18 Jul 2011, 6:07 PM | Message # 11 |
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Private
Group: Users
Messages: 2
Status: Offline
| ( Just letting you know guys, I haven't forgotten you. Auzdein, you're an amazing writer and I look forward to RPing with you. But I have anywhere from 10 to 12 billion characters active right now and I just need to cut some of them loose, I'm afraid. Grist is one of my newest characters, so he's the first to go. Sorry gentlemen, can you RP around me? )
Grist Vri'fey
Bothan Spynet
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| Auzdein | Date: Monday, 18 Jul 2011, 8:01 PM | Message # 12 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| (no worries. thanks for the headsup. enjoyed writing with you, too. have fun developing the other characters. Tresk, if you or anyone else want to continue this thread or start a new one, i'm on board)
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
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| Netan | Date: Saturday, 23 Jul 2011, 6:56 PM | Message # 13 |
 Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 103
Status: Offline
| If you want to, I could jump in to make things more interesting? It's up to you.))
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| Auzdein | Date: Saturday, 23 Jul 2011, 9:20 PM | Message # 14 |
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Sergeant
Group: Users
Messages: 30
Status: Offline
| sounds good. let's do it))
Auzdein von Schäfer
Governor of Inisfree
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| Netan | Date: Sunday, 24 Jul 2011, 5:40 PM | Message # 15 |
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Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 103
Status: Offline
| The Iron Fist had been patrolling the Perlemian Trade Route for some time now. His current assignment had been one smooth ride. At times, he wished it wasn't that smooth. Netan was the type of person that craves excitement. He would rather be in a battle than to babysit a Trade Route. The Captain felt the most relaxed and most excited at once while in combat. It was one of the most boring assignments he had gotten, but it was an important one. At least to the Admiral. He'd lean back on the command chair when something had happened.
"We got something on the screen!" Netan heard the words coming from one of his underlings, and shifted his attention toward the man. "It's a distress signal broadcasting from a nearby system." The Captain grinned at the updated information, and turned to push a button on his chair. "Pilots, get to the hangar bay and prepare yourself. We're going to do a brief jump into hyperspace." Netan gave the order through the ship-wide channel. While Netan was giving orders, the very same man that had spotted the distress signal had locked down the coordinates.
Within next few moments, the Imperial-class star destroyer had entered into hyperspace en route the location of the distress signal.
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