Ask New Arrivals (Annaxes)

Discussion in 'Deep Core and Core Worlds' started by Szalor Thrask, Mar 19, 2019.

  1. Szalor Thrask

    Szalor Thrask Character

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    War had many familiar scents. The faint whiff of ozone after a blaster goes off, the acrid sting of smoke, and the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh. Yet none were so potent, or pungent, as that of fear.

    The dropship banked sharply, and Szalor swayed in his seat, musing over the realization that he would soon be called upon to play a larger part in this war had been an inevitable fact. Once consigned to the Outer Rim, out of sight and out of mind like so many other aliens serving the Republica, his re-deployment smacked of desperation.

    Like most grunts, he was told very little as to why he was sent where he was sent. Usually it was to some backwater outpost to slog around in the mud for a few months rooting out small-time insurgent cells. But to be deployed to the Core? The Republica must be truly desperate to close ranks around its vaunted capital as to rely on 'xenos dregs' for support.

    Szalor felt the dropship pitch, and an announcement from the pilot preceded their landing. A moment later, the rear hatch hissed open, bathing the dim cabin with hazy daylight. Trudging down the ramp, shoulder to shoulder with a motley assortment of aliens and humans, the Barabel followed the directions being barked at him from a Major poised just outside the dropship.

    Like all the other aliens, he was herded off into a separate group, far from the other humans. Incredulous glares and jeering whispers followed them along their trail to the barracks at the far end of the training yard. And for his part, Szalor would glare right back, occasionally flashing a crooked, toothy grin to startle some of the less imposing cadets.

    Never the less, he arrived with his group at the barracks soon enough, hefting his rucksack off his shoulder and onto one of the hastily prepared bunks. He'd slept in worse conditions, often times never with a proper bed. The spartan accommodations were hardly challenging.

    Sinking onto the edge of one of the cots, Szalor began idly filing away at one of his knives. He had little doubt that he would see combat soon. And much less that he would be thrown right into the thick of the worst of it, expected to perish like all the rest. It was a notion which brought him neither dread nor apprehension, but rather clarity of purpose.

    If he was to die, then he would prefer to do so in battle.

    @Herrith
     
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  2. Sylvie Corser

    Sylvie Corser Character

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    Sylvie saluted her officer within his tent before grabbing her bags and heading to the designated barracks. It'd been a while since she had been folded into a combat unit. She was here mainly for observation, if not simple milk run duties. The humanoid barracks. Her place for a little while. The Core had given her a far better time, but out here in the harsh wastes of fighting and conflict, Imperials liked to divide each other up. Sylvie eyed a Barabel and a few other nonhumans heading toward their living space. Her living space. She entered the plain accomodations, spying an empty bunk near the door and setting her gear down, still polished from the lack of use in battle.

    Sylvie sighed and sat down, ignoring the whistles from the door. It sucked being a Zeltron sometimes. Then again, there were benefits. She would find slightly better treatment than her humanoid comrades. Hopefully I can stay out of most of the trouble...

    She pulled off her armor and slung it over her bunk, checking her carbine and making sure it still worked, despite barely being used save for a few select assignments. She wanted excitement, right? Here it was.
     
  3. Szalor Thrask

    Szalor Thrask Character

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    The barracks were a menagerie alien faces, each more varied than the last, but all sharing a certain weariness. Raucous laughter and a game of Sabaac kept the worst of their emotions at bay, yet there was little denying the tension and doubt gnawing at their improvised festivities. For his part, Szalor saw little point in such celebrations, instead finding content in his own rituals.

    The file dragged along the edge of his knife again, gliding smoothly, as it should when one had honed the blade to perfection. He admired his handiwork, grazing a calloused thumb along the edge, satisfied with the bite he felt on his skin as he did so. It would cut nicely, her surmised, opening the next Rebel throat it encountered with ease.

    A peculiar scent suddenly filled his nostrils, and Szalor perked up. It wasn't the Zeltron's exotic fuchsia skin tone which made her stand out, but rather that heady whiff of pheromones. He'd dealt with their kind before, usually as courtesans or slaves to the Sith who operated the gladiator pits on Sleheyron. To see one among the ranks of the Republica's armed forces was... unexpected.

    His keen eye took stock of her gear as she slung her armor over the bunk - hardly even used. She looked as new as new could be. "Your kind don't often advocate war." He grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. Szalor heaved himself up from his cot, sheathing his knife. "How does one such as you wind up in a uniform?" His gaze raked over her, scrutinizing, incredulous. "You don't look like much."

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  4. Sylvie Corser

    Sylvie Corser Character

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    Sylvie looked around and located the source of the deep and heavy voice, attributing it immediately to the massive lizardlike humanoid across from her. A knife sat in his hands. She blinked for a moment and then rendered her carbine safe, hanging it near her armor and then leaning back in her bunk, eyeing the soldier the whole time. Why was she here? Simple. They needed her transferred this side of the galaxy for a bit. Mainly to construct a report for her superiors back in the Core, but also because she was looking for more interesting lifestyles. Namely this.

    "Yeah, my kind advocates for a lot of things. War is on that list, believe it or not."

    Sylvie crossed her legs, still lying down on the bunk, and then shut her eyes, arms folding behind her head. The excitement of such a new assignment was bound to wear off sooner or later. Though the giant lizard next to her might make things a bit more interesting. She shrugged, not one to enjoy reciting her life story, but decided to indulge in the nonhuman's curiosity. Why not?

    "Well, ya see, I wanted to see the big galaxy. Got involved in Core World parties. Eventually joined the Republica cause it's a pretty good job for what I can do. As for your comment on my looks, I'd have taken much more offense to it if it wasn't spoken by a two-legged, muscular, well-built dragon. Never seen a Zeltron fight or somethin'?"
     
  5. Szalor Thrask

    Szalor Thrask Character

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    Szalor had to chuckle a bit at how casually he was being dismissed. Any by a soft pink little alien, no less. "No, as a matter of fact I haven't." He said, half growling as he loomed over Sylvie's bunk. "Your kind seem more suited to kneeling at the feet of others. More pet than person." A wicked smirk curled his snout, flashing just the slightest hint of his dagger-like teeth.

    "Unless you would like to prove me wrong, of course." Szalor unsheathed his knife from its scabbard, dropping the blade flat against her stomach. "Let's see you put that training to use then, girl." He held his arms out wide, leaving himself exposed to attack, goading Sylvie into making a move. "You see, I have a theory. I think you joined up looking for adventure, but once some officer got a look at you, he decided your face was just too pretty for the trenches. So now you're little more than an over glorified errand girl." The Barabel's attempts were less than subtle, his words laced with no small dose of venom.

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  6. Sylvie Corser

    Sylvie Corser Character

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    Sylvie looked up at the large lizard towering over her bunk, eyebrows raising while she blinked innocently and rested her hands under her chin, in the same fashion that younger girls may respond to praise. She returned the sharp smile sent her way and went back to folding her arms behind her head, shrugging while the Barabel finished his first sentence. She could tell from this first confrontation that the big man was trying to start some kind of reaction. He wasn't going to get a very offended one. After all, she knew just how rough some parts and people could be.

    "Well...if I could make more money kneeling like a pet, I'd gladly resort to doing so as soon as possible. Your kind seems suited to this position rather well, I'd say. On top of things, yet not really."

    She poked his chest (or as high as she could reach toward the tall being) and looked down at the large knife resting firmly against her stomach. It felt like a lead weight. Then again, she didn't exactly work with knives the size of her forearm. Sylvie slowly picked up the weapon and twirled it in her hands, examining the edges and contours with precise vison and pointing to one spot on the blade after he finished speaking.

    "There's a scratch here. You see, I have a theory as well. But first, you're rather correct on your guess. Officers love the way I look. If you were as pink as me, maybe you'd be lucky, too. And if you had effective pheromones. That's a big part, evident from your sudden aggression and abrupt gruffness. If I didn't know any better, this would be an awful romance film from the mind of a Bantha. They don't let any old Zeltron in the top, at any rate; just the ones that are dumb or act dumb. As for you...I'd say you joined to escape. Or maybe you were forced to join. You became tough and callous because of how humans treat us..especially the less human of the bunch. And now you're trying to prove your toughness to the only person that'll listen. Yeah?"

    She winked and spun the knife in her hand, returning it with the hilt facing the Barabel.

    "Don't cut yourself, love. Looking forward to the front lines. Maybe you'll finally see why they don't like us at the front. And it ain't always the looks."

    Sylvie pursed her lips and then went to drum her stomach, slightly pulling up her pants and sitting up to unlace her boots.