Sitting in the pilot seat looking out the transparisteel viewport at the swirling lines of hyperspace, Xohhar absentmindedly leaned forward to switch off the alarm beeping that they would exiting hyperspace soon only to blink when nothing happened and turned to find the pinned sleeve of his coat covering the stump that remained of his right arm hanging impotently with the button far out of reach. Snarling under his breath he reached forward and slapped the button with his left hand far more forcefully than was probably necessary, his rage spiking before being buried behind his shields and a mask of placid calm. He hadn't yet requisitioned a cybernetic replacement for his arm - hadn't tried in truth, his damnable pride unable to take the blow of possibly being refused.
The Falleen acolyte hadn't expected Champion Vossari to call on him so soon after the chaotic mix of success and unmitigated disaster his last mission had become, but the assignment had been there flashing on his datapad this morning: Report to Hangar Bay 10 and bring the waiting shuttle to the following coordinates. There were no other details in the message, and when he'd arrived to the hangar he found a fueled Herald-class Shuttle with a cargo hull packed full of sealed crates waiting for him. Getting the ship out of the hangar with just one hand had been... challenging in many aspects, and it wasn't until he was safely beyond the mists of Umbara that he thought to check where he was actually going.
Plugging the coordinates into the navicomputer, Xohhar's eyes had narrowed at the destination: Boz Pity, the Graveyard World.
He'd had two days to ruminate on what this mission could possibly be about, debating whether he should try breaking into the crates to see what they held before deciding against it. No point in risking angering the Champion further, though a poisonous voice in the back of his mind had softly hissed that there was little chance of angering the man further after his failures on Glee Anselm. Connor had fought the Leviathan and emerged unscathed, Arak - though injured - was some member of the Sith noble caste according to the Academy records the Falleen had sliced and currently receiving the best care the Academy medical center could provide for his broken body, and Nash... she had proven herself a Sith; the photographic evidence of the Leviathan's wounds and how they came to be ensured that.
Meanwhile, Xohhar's contribution to the mission had been to slip and fall unconscious in a pool of sea monster bait, get permanently maimed by said sea monster, and take a holopicture.
Bringing the craft around for an unsteady landing in a clearing between two of the grand mausoleums that covered the surface, Xohhar couldn't decide if it was meant to be poetic irony by the Champion to kill the acolyte on a world where his spirit would be spoiled for choices in a final resting place. Standing and checking his pistol holster - now moved to his left thigh - and sheathing the vibrorapier on his right side where he'd be able to try and draw it across his body with his left hand, Xo let out a shaky breath before steeling himself and walking briskly toward the loading ramp to greet the waiting champion.
If he was truly a dead man walking to his grave, he would meet his end with his head held high at the very least.
"Acolyte Xo and Shuttle Tyrant-089 arriving as ordered, Champion."
@Fine Dining Set
The Falleen acolyte hadn't expected Champion Vossari to call on him so soon after the chaotic mix of success and unmitigated disaster his last mission had become, but the assignment had been there flashing on his datapad this morning: Report to Hangar Bay 10 and bring the waiting shuttle to the following coordinates. There were no other details in the message, and when he'd arrived to the hangar he found a fueled Herald-class Shuttle with a cargo hull packed full of sealed crates waiting for him. Getting the ship out of the hangar with just one hand had been... challenging in many aspects, and it wasn't until he was safely beyond the mists of Umbara that he thought to check where he was actually going.
Plugging the coordinates into the navicomputer, Xohhar's eyes had narrowed at the destination: Boz Pity, the Graveyard World.
He'd had two days to ruminate on what this mission could possibly be about, debating whether he should try breaking into the crates to see what they held before deciding against it. No point in risking angering the Champion further, though a poisonous voice in the back of his mind had softly hissed that there was little chance of angering the man further after his failures on Glee Anselm. Connor had fought the Leviathan and emerged unscathed, Arak - though injured - was some member of the Sith noble caste according to the Academy records the Falleen had sliced and currently receiving the best care the Academy medical center could provide for his broken body, and Nash... she had proven herself a Sith; the photographic evidence of the Leviathan's wounds and how they came to be ensured that.
Meanwhile, Xohhar's contribution to the mission had been to slip and fall unconscious in a pool of sea monster bait, get permanently maimed by said sea monster, and take a holopicture.
Bringing the craft around for an unsteady landing in a clearing between two of the grand mausoleums that covered the surface, Xohhar couldn't decide if it was meant to be poetic irony by the Champion to kill the acolyte on a world where his spirit would be spoiled for choices in a final resting place. Standing and checking his pistol holster - now moved to his left thigh - and sheathing the vibrorapier on his right side where he'd be able to try and draw it across his body with his left hand, Xo let out a shaky breath before steeling himself and walking briskly toward the loading ramp to greet the waiting champion.
If he was truly a dead man walking to his grave, he would meet his end with his head held high at the very least.
"Acolyte Xo and Shuttle Tyrant-089 arriving as ordered, Champion."
@Fine Dining Set