FL-AR3 returns to the Vagrant determined to not let the Gand, or anyone else, follow him. Spanner queries him about this very thing and the combat droid answers that he is certain he was not tailed.
The crew reassembles aboard their freighter, the stale scent of recycled air mixing with ozone from FL-AR3's joints as he relays his encounter. The group decides not to wait here any longer and depart Hive Gogum and head's for Duke Piddock's Hive Trellik. Meanwhile, Kilian activates the comm unit. Ota's holographic form flickers to life, his Bothan features taut with anticipation. "How did your dance with Duke Piddock go?"
"Straightforward," Kilian replies, leaning against the bulkhead. "He sold us the rifles without fuss – seemed happy to bypass Teemo’s shadow. But the *why*... it was messy." He shares Piddock’s clipped explanation about Sivor’s disappearance and Thwheek’s final blow in the arena. Ota’s ears twitch, fur bristling slightly. "So the Kubaz spy was the catalyst? Makes Teemo look impulsive, reckless..."
FL-AR3’s photoreceptors pulse softly. "The gossip cost us 100 credits, but Anatta confirmed it." The droid hesitates, servos whirring faintly. "And encountered a Gand. VRIXX’TT. Claimed he represented insectile rights." Kilian scoffs. "A Gand bounty hunter peddling politics? Convenient." FL-AR3 projects the image from its memory banks – VRIXX’TT’s chitinous face, those unnerving compound eyes. "He pressed hard about Ryloth. Knew we’d been there. Said he... knew who I was."
Ota’s hologram flickers, fur rippling. His claws tap an unseen surface. "Gands hunt credits, not causes. That insect-rights bantha fodder reeks of cover." He leans closer, muzzle wrinkling. "Teemo’s paranoid. Pays well for trackers. VRIXX’TT probably smelled opportunity the moment you mentioned Ryloth." A pause. "Did he follow you?" FL-AR3’s dome swivels. "Negative. I took indirect routes, scanned for tails. Clean."
Outside the freighter’s viewport, Geonosis’s rust-red sky deepens toward dusk, casting long shadows across the landing field. Kilian exhales sharply. "So we’ve got Teemo’s spy-killer loose, a Gand bounty hunter sniffing our trail, and rifles in the ship's belly for the Twilek uprising on Ryloth..."
Ota’s hologram cuts through the gloom, claws steepled thoughtfully. "All pitfalls if handled clumsily." His fur ripples in a slow, calculated wave. "Duke Dimmock’s ego is his weakness – play to it. Bring a token." His muzzle twitches in distaste. "Not credits. Something that strokes his pride. Geonosians value symbols of power."
Spanner leans forward, elbows scraping metal. "What? A dead Kubaz head?"
Ota’s ear flicks dismissively. "Too literal. Find something... elegant. A rare artifact? An endorsement?" He pauses, "Or flattery. Flattery wraps tighter than any chain."
FL-AR3 interrupts, photoreceptors dimming as he replays Anatta’s overheard comment. "Before the Gand approached... I overheard talk about Maru Jakkar." The droid projects shaky sensor logs: Jakkar’s coldly sophisticated airs, laughing beside a tray of pungent Geonosian fungus-wine. "Anatta claimed she finances anti-droid groups actively. Substantial sums." A low servo-hum fills the silence. "She seeks to strip us of legal protections, restrict processor autonomy... reduce us to programmed property."
Kilian’s knuckles whiten against the bulkhead. "Of course she does. Core World aristocrats always fear what they don’t understand." He’d seen Jakkar’s type before—elegant robes hiding venomous ideologies.
Ota’s hologram sharpens, "When you meet Dimmoock, steer conversation toward Geonosian *tradition*. Praise his lineage. Mention Teemo’s... disregard for hive honor." His claws tap an impatient rhythm. "And for stars’ sake, avoid discussing credits or Ryloth directly. Let him feel superior."
Pron nods slowly. Ota pauses, eyes narrowing. "And before you meet him? Call me. There are... developments." The hologram flickers ominously, hinting at shadows shifting beyond their view. "Things are in motion."
An Unwelcome Guest (Episode 16)
Moderator: GM Fang
Re: An Unwelcome Guest (Episode 16)
Morning paints Geonosis in harsh amber light as the crew departs Duke Dimmock's compound. Kilian leads, senses stretched taut. The air tastes metallic, thick with dust stirred by distant mining rigs. Below the plateau path, jagged rock formations claw skyward. Kilian's hand drifts instinctively toward his blaster grip – his stride barely hitches, but FL-AR3 registers the micro-tension in his gait. "Kilian?" the droid queries softly.
"Stay sharp," Kilian murmurs, scanning the labyrinth of crimson stone spires flanking the descent. Something clicks – the sharp scrape of chitinous foot on rock, out of sync with the wind. He catches the faintest flicker of movement: Gand. Several of them.
Instinct snaps his spine straight. His blaster clears its holster in one fluid motion, barrel swinging toward the tallest figure silhouetted against the dawn glare. No hesitation. The shot cracks through the thin air, a searing blue bolt tearing through VRIXX’TT’s thorax plating with a sickening crunch of shattered chitin. A sharp, acrid scent of ozone mingles with the sudden tang of scorched insectile flesh – sickly-sweet and metallic.
"Ambush!" Kilian barks, his mind racing: *They knew. They knew our route.*
VRIXX’TT staggers but doesn't fall. A guttural clicking erupts from his mandibles—half pain, half fury. His Geonosian-designed blaster rifle snaps up, humming with charged energy. Kilian sees the weapon’s aperture flare crimson. He twists sideways, but too late.
The bolt punches through his thigh like a molten spike. Kilian’s roar strangles into a gasp. White-hot agony floods his nervous system—a searing, liquid fire eating through muscle. Kilian dives for cover.
Suddenly, an Iktochi—tall, red-skinned, with fierce horns curling forward—steps out into the open not far from the Gand ambush. His worn spacer’s jacket snaps in the wind as he approaches unseen. Before the nearest Gand hunter can pivot, the Iktochi fires. A single shot, clean and economical. The bolt hits the Gand’s temple, punching through chitin with a sickening wet crunch. The insectoid collapses instantly, compound eyes dimming before it hits the dust.
Battle erupts in earnest as blaster bolts carve crimson and azure streaks across the plateau. Kilian grits his teeth against the agony in his thigh, dragging himself behind a pile of crates. Beside him, Spanner’s weathered face tightens. "Stun settings! We need that slimy Gand alive!" His voice cuts through the chaos as he lobs a spherical stun grenade. It lands at VRIXX’TT’s feet, detonating with a deafening *crack-hiss* of blue energy. The Gand convulses violently, chittering curses as he stumbles—blinded and disoriented but still upright. Another shot from Koraz nearly downs him.
The other Gand hunters are less fortunate. Pron’s blaster pistol hammers through the thin air, stitching jagged wounds across the nearest insectoid’s carapace. Green ichor sprays the rocks as it collapses. FL-AR3’s precise shots disable another with a clean bolt to the thorax. Its limbs stiffen, then slump.
Vrixx't returns fire and solidly hits the Iktochi despite his own wounds. Koraz ducks behind a spire, hissing as charred fabric smokes from his shoulder wound. He fumbles a stim-pack from his belt, jamming the injector spike deep into his flesh. A sharp hiss fills the air—a mix of chemical release and his gritted teeth. Crimson-skinned muscles tense as the painkiller floods his system, dampening the agony but leaving a numb, cold fire in his veins. He flexes his fingers, testing mobility. Still functional.
The Gand leader staggers but stays upright, chittering furious commands in his guttural tongue. Blaster bolts sizzle past Kilian’s cover, hitting the rock beside his head with explosive *pocks* of superheated stone. Dust stings Kilian's eyes, thick with the ozone tang of blaster fire. He tastes grit on his tongue. The crew continue to fire stun blasts at the bounty hunter, connecting several times. The Gand convulses violently, limbs locking. He collapses sideways with a clatter of heavy chitin against stone, finally stilled.
Spanner moves first, crouching low as he approaches the fallen hunter. He kicks aside the Geonosian rifle—long-barreled, etched with intricate hive-glyphs—before securing VRIXX’TT’s clawed wrists with mag-cuffs. The weapon feels unnervingly light in Kilian’s grasp when he lifts it, humming faintly with residual charge. He exchanges a grim nod with Pron. "Three rifles for Ryloth now". Dust coats Kilian’s fingers as they drag VRIXX’TT’s unconscious bulk toward the freighter’s ramp, his carapace scraping harshly against the durasteel. Green ichor leaks sluggishly from his wounds, smelling sharply acidic.
Inside the cargo hold’s harsh lighting, FL-AR3 straps the Gand into a makeshift interrogation chair. Koraz jams a stimulant injector into VRIXX’TT’s chitinous neck joint. The hunter jerks awake with a guttural click-hiss, compound eyes swirling as they refocus. Kilian leans in, voice a low growl. "Why hunt us?" VRIXX’TT’s mandibles twitch. "Bounty," he rasps, the word distorted by his translator vambrace. "Credits promised... dead or alive." When pressed about Teemo, the Gand scoffs, trembling faintly. "No direct link. Bounty public. And large."
FL-AR3’s photoreceptors dim. He’d hoped VRIXX’TT’s insect-rights façade hinted at deeper intrigue—maybe a shared secret or a coded plea against Teemo. But the truth tasted sterile: just profit. His servos whirred softly, disappointment settling like dust in his circuits. "Another hunter. Nothing more."
FL-AR3’s photoreceptors lingered on the bounty hunter’s chipped carapace. He’d hoped—*hoped*—for recognition in those multifaceted eyes. A flicker of shared history, perhaps. The Gand’s earlier claim ("I know who you are!") had ignited dormant processors: fragmented memories of Ryloth’s spice-drenched alleys, a Twi’lek’s laughter, the static haze before his activation. But VRIXX’TT was mercenary gristle. No insight, no buried truth. Just greed etched in venom-green ichor. The droid turned away, servos whining softly. Another dead end in the labyrinth of his own forgotten origins.
FL-AR3 didn't sleep. Sleep was a biological luxury, a concept etched in fading memory banks alongside warmth and taste. As the others retreated to cabins or Pron to his commandeered lounge outside the cockpit, the droid stood sentinel over VRIXX’TT. The Gand’s stench—pungent ichor and stale chitin—filled the cargo hold, mingling with recycled air. Every rustle, every twitch of the hunter’s segmented limbs triggered FL-AR3’s proximity sensors. Synthetic disappointment curdled into sharp frustration. "Another dead end." The Gand’s earlier assertion—"I know who you are!"—had sparked fragmented images: Ryloth’s sunbaked stone, a Twi’lek’s voice calling a name lost to corrupted files. Hope, a foolish glitch. Each time VRIXX’TT stirred, FL-AR3 jabbed the stun-cuff control. A harsh blue arc crackled across the bindings. The Gand convulsed violently, clicking mandibles frozen mid-curse. FL-AR3 observed the violent tremor dispassionately, photoreceptors pulsing bright blue. No answers. Just noise.
Outside the freighter’s hull, Geonosis’s twin moons cast long, skeletal shadows across the landing field. Kilian lay awake, thigh throbbing beneath synth-flesh bandages. Spanner had patched it swiftly—too swiftly. Kilian replayed the ambush. Tomorrow they’d walk back into Dimmock’s web.
Morning arrived harshly. Dust-laden winds scraped against the viewport. Kilian limped to the comm unit. Ota’s hologram flickered to life, fur bristling with tension. "Your Gand souvenir," he rasped, "wasn’t the only development last night." His claws tapped a rhythm only he could hear. "Teemo’s attempting to tighten his grip. Which means he's starting to worry."
His voice dropped low. "There’s chatter… whispers of Teemo’s private dealings. Proof of bribes, assassinations… things even Jabba wouldn't overlook. We have learned that Teemo is even off-planet currently. It is a chance to strike. For you to potentially be freed from your bounties and for us to lose the rest of Teemo's influence on Ryloth."
“There is a cargo ship called the Lucky Guess currently berthed on gantry AA7 at Trellik Hive. It is due to fly to Mos Shuuta tomorrow at sundown, with a cargo of goods that will be transported into Teemo’s palace. Should negotiations go well with Duke Dimmock, he may well overlook the fact that the cargo ship contains some unexpected cargo, in the shape of yourselves. I’d expect some violence, though; even if Dimmock allows you to board the ship, he may place a few guards in your way, for the sake of keeping up appearances if nothing else."
"Your target is to dig up some dirt on his plans to build up his forces and compete with the mighty Jabba. I am sure we could pass such information along the proper channels. There must be someone in the palace willing to talk, or some kind of records pertaining to his plans. If you can find such things, and provide them to the proper entities, then they may take care of Teemo's ambitions for both of us."
The meeting with Duke Dimmock seemed all the more important now.
------------------------------------------
Unused XPS (+5 XP)
Spanner - 10
FL-AR3 - 10
Kilian - 10
Pron - 10
Koraz - 5
Group Funds - 1908 credits (+71 Vrixxtt)
3 Geonosian Rifles hidden in cargo hold for Nyn
4 Blaster Pistols
"Stay sharp," Kilian murmurs, scanning the labyrinth of crimson stone spires flanking the descent. Something clicks – the sharp scrape of chitinous foot on rock, out of sync with the wind. He catches the faintest flicker of movement: Gand. Several of them.
Instinct snaps his spine straight. His blaster clears its holster in one fluid motion, barrel swinging toward the tallest figure silhouetted against the dawn glare. No hesitation. The shot cracks through the thin air, a searing blue bolt tearing through VRIXX’TT’s thorax plating with a sickening crunch of shattered chitin. A sharp, acrid scent of ozone mingles with the sudden tang of scorched insectile flesh – sickly-sweet and metallic.
"Ambush!" Kilian barks, his mind racing: *They knew. They knew our route.*
VRIXX’TT staggers but doesn't fall. A guttural clicking erupts from his mandibles—half pain, half fury. His Geonosian-designed blaster rifle snaps up, humming with charged energy. Kilian sees the weapon’s aperture flare crimson. He twists sideways, but too late.
The bolt punches through his thigh like a molten spike. Kilian’s roar strangles into a gasp. White-hot agony floods his nervous system—a searing, liquid fire eating through muscle. Kilian dives for cover.
Suddenly, an Iktochi—tall, red-skinned, with fierce horns curling forward—steps out into the open not far from the Gand ambush. His worn spacer’s jacket snaps in the wind as he approaches unseen. Before the nearest Gand hunter can pivot, the Iktochi fires. A single shot, clean and economical. The bolt hits the Gand’s temple, punching through chitin with a sickening wet crunch. The insectoid collapses instantly, compound eyes dimming before it hits the dust.
Battle erupts in earnest as blaster bolts carve crimson and azure streaks across the plateau. Kilian grits his teeth against the agony in his thigh, dragging himself behind a pile of crates. Beside him, Spanner’s weathered face tightens. "Stun settings! We need that slimy Gand alive!" His voice cuts through the chaos as he lobs a spherical stun grenade. It lands at VRIXX’TT’s feet, detonating with a deafening *crack-hiss* of blue energy. The Gand convulses violently, chittering curses as he stumbles—blinded and disoriented but still upright. Another shot from Koraz nearly downs him.
The other Gand hunters are less fortunate. Pron’s blaster pistol hammers through the thin air, stitching jagged wounds across the nearest insectoid’s carapace. Green ichor sprays the rocks as it collapses. FL-AR3’s precise shots disable another with a clean bolt to the thorax. Its limbs stiffen, then slump.
Vrixx't returns fire and solidly hits the Iktochi despite his own wounds. Koraz ducks behind a spire, hissing as charred fabric smokes from his shoulder wound. He fumbles a stim-pack from his belt, jamming the injector spike deep into his flesh. A sharp hiss fills the air—a mix of chemical release and his gritted teeth. Crimson-skinned muscles tense as the painkiller floods his system, dampening the agony but leaving a numb, cold fire in his veins. He flexes his fingers, testing mobility. Still functional.
The Gand leader staggers but stays upright, chittering furious commands in his guttural tongue. Blaster bolts sizzle past Kilian’s cover, hitting the rock beside his head with explosive *pocks* of superheated stone. Dust stings Kilian's eyes, thick with the ozone tang of blaster fire. He tastes grit on his tongue. The crew continue to fire stun blasts at the bounty hunter, connecting several times. The Gand convulses violently, limbs locking. He collapses sideways with a clatter of heavy chitin against stone, finally stilled.
Spanner moves first, crouching low as he approaches the fallen hunter. He kicks aside the Geonosian rifle—long-barreled, etched with intricate hive-glyphs—before securing VRIXX’TT’s clawed wrists with mag-cuffs. The weapon feels unnervingly light in Kilian’s grasp when he lifts it, humming faintly with residual charge. He exchanges a grim nod with Pron. "Three rifles for Ryloth now". Dust coats Kilian’s fingers as they drag VRIXX’TT’s unconscious bulk toward the freighter’s ramp, his carapace scraping harshly against the durasteel. Green ichor leaks sluggishly from his wounds, smelling sharply acidic.
Inside the cargo hold’s harsh lighting, FL-AR3 straps the Gand into a makeshift interrogation chair. Koraz jams a stimulant injector into VRIXX’TT’s chitinous neck joint. The hunter jerks awake with a guttural click-hiss, compound eyes swirling as they refocus. Kilian leans in, voice a low growl. "Why hunt us?" VRIXX’TT’s mandibles twitch. "Bounty," he rasps, the word distorted by his translator vambrace. "Credits promised... dead or alive." When pressed about Teemo, the Gand scoffs, trembling faintly. "No direct link. Bounty public. And large."
FL-AR3’s photoreceptors dim. He’d hoped VRIXX’TT’s insect-rights façade hinted at deeper intrigue—maybe a shared secret or a coded plea against Teemo. But the truth tasted sterile: just profit. His servos whirred softly, disappointment settling like dust in his circuits. "Another hunter. Nothing more."
FL-AR3’s photoreceptors lingered on the bounty hunter’s chipped carapace. He’d hoped—*hoped*—for recognition in those multifaceted eyes. A flicker of shared history, perhaps. The Gand’s earlier claim ("I know who you are!") had ignited dormant processors: fragmented memories of Ryloth’s spice-drenched alleys, a Twi’lek’s laughter, the static haze before his activation. But VRIXX’TT was mercenary gristle. No insight, no buried truth. Just greed etched in venom-green ichor. The droid turned away, servos whining softly. Another dead end in the labyrinth of his own forgotten origins.
FL-AR3 didn't sleep. Sleep was a biological luxury, a concept etched in fading memory banks alongside warmth and taste. As the others retreated to cabins or Pron to his commandeered lounge outside the cockpit, the droid stood sentinel over VRIXX’TT. The Gand’s stench—pungent ichor and stale chitin—filled the cargo hold, mingling with recycled air. Every rustle, every twitch of the hunter’s segmented limbs triggered FL-AR3’s proximity sensors. Synthetic disappointment curdled into sharp frustration. "Another dead end." The Gand’s earlier assertion—"I know who you are!"—had sparked fragmented images: Ryloth’s sunbaked stone, a Twi’lek’s voice calling a name lost to corrupted files. Hope, a foolish glitch. Each time VRIXX’TT stirred, FL-AR3 jabbed the stun-cuff control. A harsh blue arc crackled across the bindings. The Gand convulsed violently, clicking mandibles frozen mid-curse. FL-AR3 observed the violent tremor dispassionately, photoreceptors pulsing bright blue. No answers. Just noise.
Outside the freighter’s hull, Geonosis’s twin moons cast long, skeletal shadows across the landing field. Kilian lay awake, thigh throbbing beneath synth-flesh bandages. Spanner had patched it swiftly—too swiftly. Kilian replayed the ambush. Tomorrow they’d walk back into Dimmock’s web.
Morning arrived harshly. Dust-laden winds scraped against the viewport. Kilian limped to the comm unit. Ota’s hologram flickered to life, fur bristling with tension. "Your Gand souvenir," he rasped, "wasn’t the only development last night." His claws tapped a rhythm only he could hear. "Teemo’s attempting to tighten his grip. Which means he's starting to worry."
His voice dropped low. "There’s chatter… whispers of Teemo’s private dealings. Proof of bribes, assassinations… things even Jabba wouldn't overlook. We have learned that Teemo is even off-planet currently. It is a chance to strike. For you to potentially be freed from your bounties and for us to lose the rest of Teemo's influence on Ryloth."
“There is a cargo ship called the Lucky Guess currently berthed on gantry AA7 at Trellik Hive. It is due to fly to Mos Shuuta tomorrow at sundown, with a cargo of goods that will be transported into Teemo’s palace. Should negotiations go well with Duke Dimmock, he may well overlook the fact that the cargo ship contains some unexpected cargo, in the shape of yourselves. I’d expect some violence, though; even if Dimmock allows you to board the ship, he may place a few guards in your way, for the sake of keeping up appearances if nothing else."
"Your target is to dig up some dirt on his plans to build up his forces and compete with the mighty Jabba. I am sure we could pass such information along the proper channels. There must be someone in the palace willing to talk, or some kind of records pertaining to his plans. If you can find such things, and provide them to the proper entities, then they may take care of Teemo's ambitions for both of us."
The meeting with Duke Dimmock seemed all the more important now.
------------------------------------------
Unused XPS (+5 XP)
Spanner - 10
FL-AR3 - 10
Kilian - 10
Pron - 10
Koraz - 5
Group Funds - 1908 credits (+71 Vrixxtt)
3 Geonosian Rifles hidden in cargo hold for Nyn
4 Blaster Pistols