Post by Garyn Fett™ on May 20, 2007 2:11:47 GMT -5
this takes place in an RP i'm a part of on Myspace. Basically, its going to end up as three Jedi against one Sith. Two of the Jedi will already be where the Sith is, and this is how I'm going to come into the story. If you want more explanation on the storyline, go ahead and ask and I'll explain it to you the best I can.
Oya, Vode
Sudden tension, then a lack thereof. A kilometer away, a plume of blood spouted, and a dead piece of meat covered in rags dropped to the sandy ground. Shifting slightly, his finger squeezed again. This time, two pieces of meat, two plumes of blood. Glancing around through the scope, he was sure…that was the last of them.
Slowly, Garyn Fett backed down the incline. Nobody would see him, only the results of his delicate handiwork. His armor - covered with a special coating for this mission - blended in almost impeccably with the sand, and the custom Verpine shattergun was a drab brown: perfect for the remote sands of Tatooine. Once far below anyone’s sight level, he stood, glancing around. His speeder rested silently in a nearby cave, its lethal array of weaponry quiet for once. The twin suns were setting, casting a reddish yellow into the dusty atmosphere. Tonight wouldn’t be fun…riding through a sandstorm never was. On the other hand, he could bunker down for the night…his target wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, with the storm on the way.
Entering the cave, Fett checked the pack strapped to the back of the speeder. Spare ammunition, light food, and a large complement of water filled the bulky sack. He didn’t need those to survive, he could survive off the Force for a good period of time, but it was better to have them now for when he didn’t. Pulling off his distinctive helmet, Fett set it down and indulged himself with a light meal and some water. Afterwards, he entered a hibernation trance, his exquisite mental control set to wake him an hour before sun-up.
Though he rarely dreamed, or received Force Visions, he did now. It was blurry in places, but distinct. Four people meeting, an ambush. Choices made. Two Jedi present, but three lightsabers flashing. Blasters firing. Then blackness.
He awoke, his body rigid. Only his eyes moved, he didn’t even breathe. Slowly, memory flooded back, and he allowed himself to relax. Standing, he took a sip of water, then put his helmet on and sealed it…he would need the atmosphere control today. Already, the planet was starting to heat up…his target would be getting desperate.
Straddling the speeder bike, Fett hit the ignition switch. With a dull rumble, the speeder awoke from its slumber, rising a mere half meter off the ground. Blinking an eye at a control switched Fett’s helmet to filter, to not distract him with the flurries of sand still swarming through the atmosphere. He gunned the speeder, and it shot smoothly off. Once outside the cave, it gained a half meter’s height to the ground, putting it a full meter off the ground, enough clearance for most obstacles in this water-forsaken wasteland.
Heading in the direction his target had been heading, Fett spotted a stumbling figure in the distance. He sped after it, quickly passing the decaying bodies of the Tusken Raiders that had fallen prey to his rifle, not glancing back. The figure in the distance straightened, and abruptly fell. Reaching the prostrate figure in a matter of seconds, Fett dismounted, a small but powerful blaster pistol held at ready, just in case it was a fake. It wasn’t…his target was breathing heavily, and didn’t even acknowledge Fett’s presence. Clutched in his right hand was a needle, which he - with difficulty - brought up to his neck. Inserting it caused his muscles to instantly tense, then relax. With one final, shuddering breath, he was dead.
Under his bounty hunter identity, Fett had been tasked with bringing in a local crime lord. Well, a crime lord on this forsaken planet…he reported to bosses scattered throughout the Rims. He’d taken a sudden liking to the immense loads of credits he’d been sending his bosses, and had started reporting less and less income, until the bosses became suspicious. Activating their spies, they learned about his sudden riches, and put two and two together - hiring Fett. They were willing to pay him a small fortune for the end of this criminal’s empire, enough to buy a fully functional spacecraft factory.
Fett had come to the planet, and the crime boss had sent his thugs after him. Dispatching them quickly, Fett had gone after the boss himself, only to find a speeder trail as he fled his stronghold into the Dune Sea. He’d taken the wrong speeder though: his other speeder was the one fully stocked with fuel and supplies. In short order, the criminal had run out of gas, though he kept fleeing towards some point in the Dune Sea. Fett had protected him from the attacking Tusken Raiders…this was his bounty, and nobody else’s. The protection had the added effect of scaring him all the more, driving him to do stupid things in the name of staying alive, such as dropping his only canteen at the death of a rogue Raider.
Now, Fett bent down, collecting certain identifying body parts and placing them into a special cooler, designed specifically for the purpose of sustaining DNA for transport. All throughout his hunt, he hadn’t touched the Force, first going into a meditation to put him into a powerful state of Art of the Small, only his clan’s version of it. Once in that state, he’d stepped away from the Force, not using it, nor being used by it. Though he could have used it with a high likelihood that he wouldn’t be felt, he wanted to do things the old way, the true Mando way.
Straddling his speeder bike, and leaving the remnants of the body for any scavengers, Fett sped towards the spaceport, where he’d left a small - but extremely quick and agile - freighter. It was equipped with hidden weaponry, as most of the weaponry he had on there was illegal because of upgrades. Pirates were common where he frequented, and more than once he’d had to blow them out of the sky.
He drove for two hours at full throttle, then slowed as the spaceport came into view. It wouldn’t do to be questioned for driving so fast…
He was lucky that he slowed, for something hit him. Slamming into the ground rolling, he heard his speeder slow to a halt fifty meters away. He looked around in a slight panic, but nobody was around. Then it hit him: the Force had sent the distress. That frustrated him, for he thought he’d separated himself from the Force for the time being. He was reminded - oddly enough, in his father’s voice - that the Force touched everything, even those that were blind to it. And Fett was far from blind to the Force.
Climbing back onto the speeder, Fett dropped off a few pieces of kit and the body parts, then changed into his spare armor, the customary matte black suit fitting him like a glove. Over it went a robe of indistinct origin, though it was matte black as well. Over that went the cloak, equipped with a hood. His helmet went into a carryall bag, as well as the different parts of his Verpine rifle. Too distinguishable and expensive for this city to see.
Only then did he start walking to where he could feel the distress coming from. He was still cloaked with Art of the Small, but he’d stepped back into the Force. He couldn’t do the moves that he normally could, but he could do enough before having to abandon his cover.
Oya, Vode
Sudden tension, then a lack thereof. A kilometer away, a plume of blood spouted, and a dead piece of meat covered in rags dropped to the sandy ground. Shifting slightly, his finger squeezed again. This time, two pieces of meat, two plumes of blood. Glancing around through the scope, he was sure…that was the last of them.
Slowly, Garyn Fett backed down the incline. Nobody would see him, only the results of his delicate handiwork. His armor - covered with a special coating for this mission - blended in almost impeccably with the sand, and the custom Verpine shattergun was a drab brown: perfect for the remote sands of Tatooine. Once far below anyone’s sight level, he stood, glancing around. His speeder rested silently in a nearby cave, its lethal array of weaponry quiet for once. The twin suns were setting, casting a reddish yellow into the dusty atmosphere. Tonight wouldn’t be fun…riding through a sandstorm never was. On the other hand, he could bunker down for the night…his target wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, with the storm on the way.
Entering the cave, Fett checked the pack strapped to the back of the speeder. Spare ammunition, light food, and a large complement of water filled the bulky sack. He didn’t need those to survive, he could survive off the Force for a good period of time, but it was better to have them now for when he didn’t. Pulling off his distinctive helmet, Fett set it down and indulged himself with a light meal and some water. Afterwards, he entered a hibernation trance, his exquisite mental control set to wake him an hour before sun-up.
Though he rarely dreamed, or received Force Visions, he did now. It was blurry in places, but distinct. Four people meeting, an ambush. Choices made. Two Jedi present, but three lightsabers flashing. Blasters firing. Then blackness.
He awoke, his body rigid. Only his eyes moved, he didn’t even breathe. Slowly, memory flooded back, and he allowed himself to relax. Standing, he took a sip of water, then put his helmet on and sealed it…he would need the atmosphere control today. Already, the planet was starting to heat up…his target would be getting desperate.
Straddling the speeder bike, Fett hit the ignition switch. With a dull rumble, the speeder awoke from its slumber, rising a mere half meter off the ground. Blinking an eye at a control switched Fett’s helmet to filter, to not distract him with the flurries of sand still swarming through the atmosphere. He gunned the speeder, and it shot smoothly off. Once outside the cave, it gained a half meter’s height to the ground, putting it a full meter off the ground, enough clearance for most obstacles in this water-forsaken wasteland.
Heading in the direction his target had been heading, Fett spotted a stumbling figure in the distance. He sped after it, quickly passing the decaying bodies of the Tusken Raiders that had fallen prey to his rifle, not glancing back. The figure in the distance straightened, and abruptly fell. Reaching the prostrate figure in a matter of seconds, Fett dismounted, a small but powerful blaster pistol held at ready, just in case it was a fake. It wasn’t…his target was breathing heavily, and didn’t even acknowledge Fett’s presence. Clutched in his right hand was a needle, which he - with difficulty - brought up to his neck. Inserting it caused his muscles to instantly tense, then relax. With one final, shuddering breath, he was dead.
Under his bounty hunter identity, Fett had been tasked with bringing in a local crime lord. Well, a crime lord on this forsaken planet…he reported to bosses scattered throughout the Rims. He’d taken a sudden liking to the immense loads of credits he’d been sending his bosses, and had started reporting less and less income, until the bosses became suspicious. Activating their spies, they learned about his sudden riches, and put two and two together - hiring Fett. They were willing to pay him a small fortune for the end of this criminal’s empire, enough to buy a fully functional spacecraft factory.
Fett had come to the planet, and the crime boss had sent his thugs after him. Dispatching them quickly, Fett had gone after the boss himself, only to find a speeder trail as he fled his stronghold into the Dune Sea. He’d taken the wrong speeder though: his other speeder was the one fully stocked with fuel and supplies. In short order, the criminal had run out of gas, though he kept fleeing towards some point in the Dune Sea. Fett had protected him from the attacking Tusken Raiders…this was his bounty, and nobody else’s. The protection had the added effect of scaring him all the more, driving him to do stupid things in the name of staying alive, such as dropping his only canteen at the death of a rogue Raider.
Now, Fett bent down, collecting certain identifying body parts and placing them into a special cooler, designed specifically for the purpose of sustaining DNA for transport. All throughout his hunt, he hadn’t touched the Force, first going into a meditation to put him into a powerful state of Art of the Small, only his clan’s version of it. Once in that state, he’d stepped away from the Force, not using it, nor being used by it. Though he could have used it with a high likelihood that he wouldn’t be felt, he wanted to do things the old way, the true Mando way.
Straddling his speeder bike, and leaving the remnants of the body for any scavengers, Fett sped towards the spaceport, where he’d left a small - but extremely quick and agile - freighter. It was equipped with hidden weaponry, as most of the weaponry he had on there was illegal because of upgrades. Pirates were common where he frequented, and more than once he’d had to blow them out of the sky.
He drove for two hours at full throttle, then slowed as the spaceport came into view. It wouldn’t do to be questioned for driving so fast…
He was lucky that he slowed, for something hit him. Slamming into the ground rolling, he heard his speeder slow to a halt fifty meters away. He looked around in a slight panic, but nobody was around. Then it hit him: the Force had sent the distress. That frustrated him, for he thought he’d separated himself from the Force for the time being. He was reminded - oddly enough, in his father’s voice - that the Force touched everything, even those that were blind to it. And Fett was far from blind to the Force.
Climbing back onto the speeder, Fett dropped off a few pieces of kit and the body parts, then changed into his spare armor, the customary matte black suit fitting him like a glove. Over it went a robe of indistinct origin, though it was matte black as well. Over that went the cloak, equipped with a hood. His helmet went into a carryall bag, as well as the different parts of his Verpine rifle. Too distinguishable and expensive for this city to see.
Only then did he start walking to where he could feel the distress coming from. He was still cloaked with Art of the Small, but he’d stepped back into the Force. He couldn’t do the moves that he normally could, but he could do enough before having to abandon his cover.