Fleeting Fools . . .

[Slamdingo]

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Upon his return to the clan-cave of Clan Vohari, Darth Ragnorik was greeted as a venerated hero having become an actual Lord of the Sith. But his mother greeted him with concern and over a meal welcoming his return, Grik's mother Szebati voiced her concerns about reemerging Jedi influence on Barab I. She told him of two turn-coats in their very own clan who had fled their settlement under Mount Stev'Shuulsz in an attempt to join the Jedi Order by meeting up with a ship coming to take them away from the planet.

Moff Malak Arpha of the Sith Brotherhood and Brother Essja Dreytila of the Sacred Band of Ziost have been tasked with hunting down these fleeing Jedi.

They cannot be allowed to flee the planet and join the ranks of the Order. They must be stopped.

OOC: Participants are @Wit and @Slamdingo. Contact either participant or Sith leadership if you wish to participate in some manner.

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In the few short days that he'd been on the planet as part of the Band's task-force in the area, Essja had already learned to hate the planet with a passion. The Sith were good at - hating things - he figured. And the Sacred Band had training cut from the same cloth. But this was the special sort of hatred that was normally reserved for serial pedophiles and people who talk during vids. The day-period lasted sixty hours and that wouldn't have been so bad by itself. But during those sixty hours the entire surface of the planet turned into a scorching hellscape of solar radiation that sapped up every last drop of water on the surface and killed anything that wasn't either underground or in some kind of shelter. And while all that ocean water stripped away to reveal oceans of churning magma, it didn't stay up in that dense cloud cover forever.

The Jedi hunter's boots gave off an odd sort of squelching sound that he could just make out over the ungodly torrent coming down on his head when he pulled them, step-by-step, from the thick mud. He was soaked head to toe and it was only the environmental seals of his armor that kept it from getting to his skin, but it did nothing to keep it from weighing down the undersuit and all of his gear with the sheer bulk of absorbed water. The sky was a cacophony of rainfall, brilliant strikes of lightning, and the crack of thunder overhead. Right now some Barabel god was laughing at Essja as he took a nice, big piss on his head.

But he wasn't just out in the muck and the grime and the rain for no reason. His whole life he'd never found wading through an increasingly deeper swamp to be any fun and the current experience wasn't convincing him he had ever really been wrong. No. The locals had given him information when asked about just where a shuttle might land to pick up two fleeing Jedi hopefuls where others might not easily get to it. On the other side of this miserable and horrid swamp was a wide shale plateau. It sat dead in the center of what during the day turned into a horrid and frothing lake of magma and would take the several hours to slog out to on foot. Local hunters seldom ever ventured out that far unless they were looking for the pride or death-wish of facing down a durgolosk on the nightly hunt for its prey.

It was big enough that a small cargo ship or a shuttle could land safely on it and it was full of caves that one could hide in to escape local wildlife. Or a Sith hunting party.

Speaking of . . .

Essja looked over his shoulder and peered into the thick mist that settled over the bog as thick as soup. In these conditions night-vision was all but useless and thermal vision was severely limited when it came to finding, say, a six foot tall humanoid in a swamp with bitterly cold water that came up to your waist in some places. Rudimentary geostat mapping acquired coming in meant that Essja had been able to set up waypoint markers on his HUD after the fact for mapping out the route. Those glowing icons on his HUD and the thermal silhouette of the Sith he'd been assigned to work with were all he could make out. There were very few other things he might run into and if the local wildlife was consistent in nature then he wanted to find none of it out in this open ground of the swamp land.

The Jedi hunter readjusted his one-handed grip on his carbine as he blink-clicked to key his radio, "Hey, uh, sir. How are you holding up back there?" He wasn't a fan of calling anybody 'sir' but the man was a Moff. That distinction wasn't just given away and it came with the kind of authority that could probably see the hunter killed. He looked to the next way-point - a kilometer out as the bird flew, "Looks like another klick to the next way-point. Not that much farther out and we've still got some time left to burn if you think you need a breather." He tried to control his own breathing with how much just sloshing through the swamp was taking it out of him.

 

[Wit]

First Ithor, then Thyferra, and now this. Mal had to wonder how many more of these assignments would have to come his way before he had to consider the possibility that someone was toying with him. Maybe he shouldn't go around making fun of Moffs and Sith Lords, someone seemed to be a little pissed with him. But then where was the fun in that? Slight inconveniences such as these were well worth the effort. At least this time there was a possibility of actually facing off against someone who would offer him some entertainment, if the reputation of the Barabels was anything to go by. He wasn't on a gardening run like before, which had to be considered a positive, though with the rain the planet was trying its very best to change that.

As he trudged his way though the puddles of water and mud, following the same trackers that his companion had pulled up on his HUD, he started toying with the idea of pulling the entire Sith Council out of their beds and leaving them stranded in this rain. The idea of some of the more delicate Darths stuck in the rain in just their pajamas brought a smile to his face. That would be a sight he would be willing to pay for. But more than that the looks on all their faces on waking up drenched on an alien planet would be priceless.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by his com clicking on and his companion's voice in his ears. He still found it odd when people addressed him as sir, or lord, when not so long ago he was nothing more than a nameless lab rat. But he understood where they were coming form, and as indifferent as he was to such ceremony, he knew quite a few who would take offense at even less than this.

Brilliant, he replied to the query, just brilliant. I finally understand what a drowned rat is supposed to feel like. Let's just get out of this pile of mud, we can set up a nice picnic and wait for out Barabel friends once we reach the landing site. So they trudged on, making slow but steady progress. At the next way point, they settled down for a small break as his companion checked their bearings and made sure they were still on track to intercept the Barabels.

How much longer to the plateau? Would it be possible for us to intercept the Barabels before the Jedi shuttle makes its appearance? I don't think they'd mind if we borrowed their shuttle instead of making our way back through this. Posing as the Barabels and capturing the shuttle wasn't really something that had been part of their initial objective, but the more he thought about it the more it made sense to him. Avoid the swamps and get some intel on the Jedi. But it all depended on how soon they made it to the plateau.

@Slamdingo

 

[Slamdingo]

Trying to get there before the Barabel and take over the shuttle? Essja hadn't considered that.

Of course he hadn't really considered it an option for a number of reasons. The first was that they didn't know if the shuttle was already there waiting, or if it would arrive after the two fleeing traitors. After all there was nothing to suggest in the briefing that it had been a shuttle one of them owned. If anything it sounded as if the Jedi or the Republic were sending a ride to pick them up, and if that was the case then Essja didn't like his odds in a two-against-four match where he was the only one that didn't have any sorts of space-wizardry with the Force. Trained up only to the level of Padawans or not, that was two more blades to sink into their backs if they made the wrong move.

But the Moff had asked a question of his own and likely expected an answer, "Its about - about twenty or thirty minutes out through this drek?" He huffed and pulled his foot free from a particularly stubborn cesspit of mud and swamp water, "You'd be able to see the damn thing if it wasn't for all of this kriffing rain." Essja was fairly certain that showers would be getting him to shudder for a week after all of this was done. There had been more than enough Brothers and Sisters on this planet to handle the task. They could have sent anybody else to do this. But nooooo, instead they sent a member of the Moff Council and a singular Jedi hunter to handle it, "I owe somebody a boot to the choobies after this is whole thing is over." He growled under his breath as he continued to slog through the swamp.

"As for taking over the shuttle? I'm all for it if it gets us out of this mess. If you're willing to make our tally four kills tonight." Damn rain meant that the only way they could hear each other over all this mess with the distance between them was with the radios. Essja shook his head in frustration, glanced back to make sure the Sith was still within a decent distance from him, and then looked ahead once more, "I can't say for sure we'll meet the Padawans as they're reaching the plateau. The weather makes tracking a special sort of pain in my ass and they're the natives - not us. But the odds are in our favor that this weather keeps their friends from coming down too fast. We'll be there before their ride if nothing else." They had the better part of a half night's head-start on the Moff and Jedi hunter but Essja felt he didn't need to bother bringing that bit of information up.

It paid to listen to one's briefings, he figured.

Essja nearly planted his face when a boot pulled free from mud smacked toe-first into a steep berm that he hadn't seen himself coming up on. Of course it didn't help that only the last few inches of its crest were visible over the top and the only way to tell it apart from the rest of the swamp was that it lacked some of the gunk and plant matter floating at the surface of the rest of the swamp. Well it was a sign they were just that much closer, he figured, and he managed to step over it to experience . . . no real change. He'd just gone from some filthy swamp water into some slightly less filthy swamp water. And it wasn't any warmer, either. The ground was just smoother underfoot and felt more like rock and less like mud clinging to his boots every time he put his foot down.

"Watch out for the berm. We just hit the edge of the flat-lands. We're closer."

Over the din of the storm, Essja could swear he heard something roar or call out. But he shook the thought off. Probably just thunder and paranoia.


@Wit

 

[Gian Greydragon]

The rain and lightning were a staple for Warlord Ragnorik's upbringing. His early years were spent with many frantic hunting games with his several clan-brothers and sisters, followed by his self imposed exile to hunt down the Durgolosk he was trapped with, thanks to his blood brothers. This planet bred him into a hunter and a warrior. He tread lightly in these heavy rains, carrying his Stryker-55 Bowcaster and Greatsaber, leaving his Bull Reek armor in his clan's cave, returning to his original get-up; no chest-piece, and simple pants and boots, as well as a pair of arm-bracers made from Barabel steel, from the ore native to the planet, and a pair of heavy pauldrons, fastened together by many leather belts, doubling as bandoleers for his quarrels and battery packs, along with a weather-proofed commslink.

He traversed swiftly through the muck, in pursuit of the Sith and the Sacred Band Brother that were tasked to find two Jedi hopefuls leaving the planet by night's end. He had a stake in this, as the two in question were the son and daughter of his own clan-brothers. Upon this realization, the parents of these traitors were bound to trees and left for the rains away from Mount Stev'Shuulsz; a punishment Warlord Ragnorik believed too kind. He, however, could not linger to torment them, as his outrage at the idea that his own clan-siblings would even hint at the very possibility of joining the Jedi. Such treachery was viewed as blasphemy among Clan Vohari. He brought with a unit of SBZ, and a Barabel guide with him to act as escorts for the Sith Moff back to their established headquarters.

Hearing the same roar the Jedi Hunter had, being just a hundred yards behind them, caused even his stomachs to sink, knowing full well what that could be. This place was no place for a Moff, be they Sith or not. Ragnorik had the advantage of playing on his own homefield, and knew when and where to expect the worst possible outcome; one being a ravenous Durgolosk looming in the distance. Now, a powerful darksider, and warrior of great renown, Ragnorik, still feared the Durgolosk for what it truly was.

Catching up the the duo, Warlord Ragnorik approached them, from the rear. "Moff Malak Arpha. You have orders to return to base camp. This One will take it from here," he spoke, before nodding his head, then looking toward the Mandalorian Brother. "This One and yourself will continue to the plateau," he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. He would waste little time after that before dismissing the Moff and his escorts and continuing forward, kicking the very same berm Essja kicked moments ago. Cursing in his own tongue, he pressed forward, as if it had not happened.

 

[Slamdingo]

It was a testament to the weather that a seven foot tall literal beast of a Warlord, complete with an entourage of Brothers and Sisters were able to all but 'sneak' to within several dozen feet of a Sith warrior and a trained and experienced hunter such as himself. The Brothers and Sisters were easier to pick out as a spread out collection of thermal images, but the reptilian warlord didn't really properly appear until he was much closer. Of course he watched the towering beast of a man stumble, and even if he couldn't quite hear it he could tell he had sworn, but Essja was the sort of man who only mouthed off when it wasn't going to get him in a near-death situation. Usually. So he said nothing but gave the larger man a nod in the affirmative before turning to continue for the plateau - because that would mean they were that much closer to cover and security away from the damnable beasts that lurked all over this miserable planet.

The bad thing about big, open expanses of routinely radiation-blasted swampland was that the descriptor made the environment sound far more visually interesting than it really was. The name conjured up interesting colors and exotic life and all the things that looked good in vids. But for the last ten klicks it had been water and muck, everywhere right around him was water and muck, and Essja was willing to bet a few credits that the next klick and a half to the plateau was going to be more water and muck. Honestly, at this point the Jedi hunter wouldn't have minded something small and easy to kill bounding along through the water at him if only for a change of pace. But instead what they got was more ear-splitting thunder, blinding flashes of light, and the slosh of water and muck as rain came pouring down on their heads.

When the plateau came into view it was slowly. A spot of the mist ahead darkening slightly. And then more.

A black shape of sheer rock cutting its way out through the thick mist and rainfall.

If he hadn't asked around before heading out then Essja would have worried about needing to scale the damn thing in this weather. But members of the clan said that one of the reasons it might be a good spot for a pick-up like this was the myriad of virtually barren caves that came up to the top. The flow of water as they drew nearer to the base of the plateau would give way to reveal the entrance to one such cave. It was low enough that the gathered rainwater was able to flow down into the darker depths with force enough to make Essja check his footing. And a quick peek inside with thermals revealed that there didn't seem to be anything inside. A quick switch to nightvision confirmed it before the Brother nodded to his Warlord before he committed.

Heavy carbine up, he stepped foot into the darkness.


@Gian Greydragon

 

[Gian Greydragon]

Ragnorik nodded the installment of SBZ as they took the Moff beck to his clan's den under Mount Stev'shuulsz, their primary base of operation in this occupation of his homeworld. Ragnorik turned and followed the Jedi Hunter, holding up the rear and flank, listening in through the rain, using the Force to enhance the depth of his hearing, so much so, the the semi-amphibious 'Nzzt' swimming between their feet as heavy boots sloshed through the water. Before he could think about finding a cave, they arrived at the foot of the plateau. With luck, they were hours ahead of their targets, and they could dig in for the duration of the rain.

Ragnorik gripped his Bowcaster and ducked in through the cave entrance, keeping the weapon aimed over his shoulder. Growing up in these very caves himself, granted him a form of nightvision, useful for hunting, or searching for a dry area in a dank, dark cave. The rain could be heard even from well within the cave.

The water would get deeper, going well up to the man's waist, Ragnorik's upper thighs, by comparison, but would recede, as they began to incline upward, with the cave, eventually to a mostly dry area of the cave. Nzzt and adolescent Shenbit Bonecrushers skittered among the cave floor, as the latter chased it's smaller reptilian prey.

The cave lit up with green light of a high-intensity glowstick emitted a neon green glow to the inside of the damp cavern. "You carry Firespray, Hunter?" Ragnorik, as he tracked the nzzt and the Shenbit Bonecrushers with his ears, and sense of smell.

 

[Slamdingo]

Wildlife, any wildlife, immediately shot what the locals had told him about these damn caves right in the foot. Relatively small critters ran about, casting shale rock under their feet as they dipped into smaller tunnels and burrows to run and chase one another or flee the two hulking forms they could sense coming through. Essja tread carefully up the incline and kept his ears peeled for the sounds of anything as large as he or his Warlord companion skulking about in the tunnels. Some part of him on trained instinct even acted without thinking to suppress his presence - not physically but through the Force. Perhaps even Grik might notice an odd fading sensation as the hunter seemed to just become less than he had been before. Not disappearing completely so much as blending partway into the background. A sith or Jedi master who knew to look for him might detect him, but a pair of panicked Padawans fleeing for their lives would need to rely on their more material senses if they hoped to find him.

"You carry Firespray, hunter?" He heard his Warlord whisper the question from behind him.

Wordlessly, Essja reached down to one of his belt pouches to retrieve the mostly featureless black can. It was one of several he had on him: a smart hunter always made sure to pack something special for particularly tough prey and while Essja had met folks who could breath underwater and force-sensitive types who could go without breathing for ludicrous measures of time - he'd yet to meet somebody who could brush off their face being engulfed in flame. The Warlord could keep the can, both because Essja was relatively certain on just who would win if that became a point of contention and because he always made a point to carry several on him. Just in case.

Thermal vision proved marginally more useful in the tunnel than outside where rain dampened everything. Even cold-blooded creatures stood out.

Of course voices were a good give-away that they were close. Essja couldn't make heads or tails of the native tongue, but Grik would be able to.

"Are you sure they will come, sister?"

Distant. Echoing through the maze of tunnels that made up the cave. It seemed to come from three or four different off-shoots down which the hunter could see nothing.

"Of course I am sure, brother. The Jedi would not make false promises."

"Forgive my panic, sister. You are right. We should have faith."

Only the virtue of having already been thoroughly exposed to it had Essja not thinking they were sharing this cave with . . . well they were, actually. It just so happened these potentially vicious predators were more sapient than the other immediate locals and had put themselves on the wrong side of the centuries-long war effort. Their intelligence or alignments didn't make them any less capable of turning a careless hunter into a fine purée. It helped quite a bit, actually.

He turned his head to Grik and gave the Warlord a brief series of hand signals.

He would let the seven foot tall Force-wielding man-beast lead the way.

Essja was happy follow in back and stab them in the kidneys when they weren't looking.


@Gian Greydragon

 

[Gian Greydragon]

Warlord Ragnorik snapped his head up as the two voices in the Barabel language could be heard. He was sure he'd be sitting in this cave for at least 16 hours with this Brother, cooking the hide of a Shenbit Bonecrusher with a Firespray canister, before any Barabel be dumb enough to traverse this rain. Not one unlike he who lived, and swam in the rapids to hunt, only to ride them to the nearest high ground or cave. Standing up to stretch his legs, he'd wave his hand, depriving the flare of oxygen, so it would quickly go out, shrouding the cave in an unnerving darkness, for those that entered it. All of his other senses save those within the Force and his hearing, were deprived, to enhance these sense. Ever so slowly, the sloshing of water as they had could be heard echoing through the cavern, alerting the mischievous creatures within to scurry as they had when they'd entered.

Following the sounds of the water dripping off the the Barabel, Ragnorik stalked with his curved bladed short sword, waiting for them to 'bring light' a tactic Barabel used to shock enemies before attacking them. While most Barabel can see in the dark, they can't see beyond a certain point, and in order to travel, one would eventually require a light source. As Barabel's eyes were reactive to motion, those composed enough could lie low in a dark cave, indefinitely until their moment to strike. This was typically done with large numbers of ambushers, but Ragnorik was easily three times the Barabel he was in his fledgling years.

As the female plopped back and began digging in her pockets, the sound of two rocks clicking together within them echoed more than they ought to, having been amplified b the hollow cave. She had flint. Perfect.

Crouching low behind a pillar, he aimed himself toward their weak and untamed Force Signatures, ready for the opportunity to pounce.

 

[Slamdingo]

This deep into the cave, night-vision quickly became useless. Vids often failed to account for the fact that most night-vision optics relied on available light to include signatures into the infrared scale. But moonlight barely punched through the cloudcover outside as it was and had no hope of reaching so deep within the plateau. And against an enemy that could see into the infrared spectrum it wasn't conducive to keeping one's cover to go around shining beams of 'visible' light all over the place. Even with all the advanced technology and tools that the Brotherhood and his years as a bounty hunter had afforded him, Essja still had need to keep his senses and more primitive skills and senses sharpened for moments just like these: tracking a pair, of which either could smear him against the cave walls were he careless, and having to relight on sound more than sight. It was in these times when he would briefly feel jealous of the Miraluka and others sensitive to the Force who didn't need eyes to still see.

The brother and sister talked among themselves and Essja used those growls and clicks of a language he didn't speak to guide himself closer with carefully measured steps. Even a cold-blooded creature began to show themselves against the much colder walls of the cavern. Neither was on their feet and they seemed more focused on each other than they did on potential threats. While Essja couldn't hope to understand anything of what they were saying, Ragnorik would be able to hear them clear enough as they talked about the worries of leaving their family behind, of how they were worried about who or what might be sent after them, and wondering just how long it would take for the Jedi to arrive to take them away. To Essja, and likely his Warlord companion as well, it seemed more like a lack of noise discipline than anything else.

Essja crept closer and hugged to the cavern wall to find a small dip where he could partly hide himself.

He was nearly motionless save for the slow and careful turn of his head back to Ragnorik. A subtle nod - wordlessly telling Ragnorik that the Jedi hunter would attack on his go. Best let the man more used to dealing with his kin lead the charge, he thought.


@Gian Greydragon

 

[Gian Greydragon]

The damp air thickened as the Dark Side swelled within Ragnorik, silently. The idle conversation between the Jedi Hopefuls died out as their largely untrained Force abilities could not yet decipher light from dark. Ragnorik let out a menacing siss, causing the scales on the necks of the pair to frill up, as their stomachs sank to their heels. Sauntering forward through the Darkness towards them, he used the Force to cloak himself from their infrared vision, until he stood within arm's distance of the two. Relinquishing his hold on the Force, and 'bringing light' his own way, both arms shot outward, gripping them by the neck and tossing the larger female Barabel into a stalagmite about twenty feet away from the Jedi Hunter.

The male, remaining in Ragnorik's grasp, was slammed backward into cavern wall. Ragnorik lurched forward, "You thought This One wouldn't notice your turn, Vashkrit? You fool! This One IS the Darkness our clan worships! Your pitiful shine nearly blinded the cave!" Ragnorik shouted, only inches away from his face, before slinging him across the cave into the wall behind them. Ragnorik turned on one heel, and ignited his fiery orange greatsaber.