Open Sand?

[Dex Sixir]

Spoiler: OOC

This is open to anyone apart from the Sith.

Setting:

Aboard the dim-lit Repulsor train, Dex Sixir stood with a hint of frustration, contemplating his decision to embark on this journey. As he peered through the window, the endless expanse of sand on Tatooine stretched before him – a place he had no desire to be. Duty, however, compelled him. The Pykes were on the decline, and safeguarding their spice transport was imperative. Before the journey, Dex had briefly considered the risks but dismissed the idea of challenging the Pyke leaders; it seemed futile. The looming threat of Sand People was not lost on him, a potential menace that could disrupt their progress. The desert dunes harbored dangers, yet the Pykes, despite their recent struggles, had amassed enough credits and resources to fund this precarious delivery. Yet, the Tuskens weren't the sole peril. The New Republic's disdain for the Pykes, supplying pure spice for illicit drugs, added another layer of danger. It wasn't just about evading Sand People raids; they were now on the radar of outlaws seeking justice. Dex, contemplating the unexpected turn of the Pykes into a life of crime, knew that desperate times called for desperate measures. As he brooded over these thoughts, Dex was abruptly jolted into action by the urgent call of the driver, "Dex, get here! Quick! I need help!" An unsettling summons. He rose deliberately, CC-240 in hand, signaling to two other Pykes in the car. Together, they moved stealthily across the train floor. Opening the car door, two compartments away from the driver's cabin, Dex cautiously pointed his blaster inside, finding nothing. Anticipation hung in the air as he pondered what would unfold next.

 

[Xim Zhan]

The grav-train rode almost effortlessly over the sands of the barren world of Tatooine. The only jostle that seemed to rattle that crammed storage car at the rear of the train was the bumping of train cars as the train wove in and out of the endless dunes. It was here that the Mandalorian, Xim Zhan, sat, uncomfortably to say the least. Atop a crate of highly refined spice, the beskar-clad soldier of fortune’s knees were tucked up before him as his back rested against another crate. In addition to his holstered blaster and usual gear, the nerf-herder had a long ranged scoped rifle haphazardly propped beside him, an insurance policy “just in case” they had said.

Already planetside, the Pykes had offered him a comfortable sum to assist in the transit of the spice, avoid Imperial entanglements as it were. It was Xim’s fault for bot clarifying further. Instead of nicely nestled in the cab of the train directing it across the sands, he was relegated to the rearmost car; an unwelcome surprise should any would be revenuers try their luck or enforcement officials give chase. Nobody’d expect an ironclad warrior popping out of the crates guns-a-blazin’.

That was IF that even happened. Chances were this gig would go off without a hitch and Xim would have stiff knees and a crick in his back to show for it. At least he had his H.U.D. to somewhat keep him entertained and distracted from the pressing heat that his suit did not quite keep at bay. Even then, one could only read so many news articles about Hutts and the Empire before getting tired of that too. The trickle of sweat down his back was especially bothersome and try as he may, he wasn’t getting it to go away.

Xim did not even know if the others aboard knew he was here. His contractor had been very secretive, whisking him aboard in the twilight minutes before departure as final preparations were made. He felt like a stowaway. He practically was; but like a good Mandalorian, he was getting paid for it. Half upfront. He was not that much a fool.

The train lurched as her momentum shifted. Xim leaned heavily to one side before righting himself with a grumble, “How hard is it to see a Bantha before you nearly hit her on this gods-forsaken sandbox of a world?” he growled in disgust. Grabbing the rifle that had fallen, he pulled it across his knees and tried in vain to slouch down and stretch out his legs a bit, eyeballing the hatch directly overhead. It had crossed his mind earlier, but the temptation to pop the hatch and just stand letting the hot winds of Tatooine dry him out for a few minutes was looking better and better in this cramped, hot, shadowy tomb of a train. “How much longer?”

@Ferol Casto