Darth_Gamemaster's page

As the crew finalizes the post-landing checklist, those with no landing routines step down the ramp into the spotless docking bay. "Cleaned" is not the right word for the meticulous level of scrubbing and cleansing that has been conducted here.

A polite chime overhead announces the arrival of someone or something outside the docking bay doors. The sound of gears moving heavy blast doors can be heard, but there is no visual change in the large hangar-side door. It remains closed.

Only after the moaning of heavy servos have ended does a second series of actuators begin to open the hangar's inner doorway. Peering into the space beyond, the crew can see that there is space for a heavy speeder/hauler between the hangar's inner cargo door and an outer door, which presumably opens to the street beyond.

In that space beyond the inner cargo door, a large speeder with an enclosed cargo space hovers with a deep and resonating thrum. There is an ample crew cab on the cargo speeder, with room for perhaps half a dozen men. The rear part of the cab is hidden from view.

The driver and the passenger in the front of the speeder's crew cab (a Human driver, his Duro passenger) sit patiently as the docking bay's doors slide open.

ooc: sorry again for delays. At the airport again, short week of travel. I'd try to post more now, but no guarantee to finish before boarding time.

Cruising high above Port Bellarin, the ship circles as the port city's orderly flight control relays final docking instructions. With a berth in the Grey Zone district already assigned, all that remains to be processed is the standard exchange of electronic greetings and verifications between the slaved nav droid systems on-board and the port's flight control network on the ground.

The city below is arranged like an ungainly sea star, or perhaps the six-lobed liver of the rugged Trandoshan people, for those with a background in xenoanatomy. The arrangement is typical of high traffic spaceports - exterior docking facilities, surrounding an interior adminstrative hub.

The ship makes its descent towards the southern lobe - a hab/port area known as the Grey Zone. It is larger than the other lobes, with a handful of broad streets. The majority of the Grey Zone is tighly packed and densely settled (except for mid-day, it's likely that most of the inhabitants see little direct sunlight within the confines of their district). The buildings are a nondescript grey tone, which reflects the unwillingness of its inhabitants to pay for colorful exteriors.

As the ship receives an electronic clearance for docking bay 13F, a message from the ground comes through to the cockpit. "Hello? Greetings, Miss Maeris Gaille. I am Tulgam, humble servant to Gumal. The information regarding your arrival has been noted, and we expect no complications for your arrival. A welcoming committee will be dispatched shortly to 13F. My master eagerly awaits his shipment."

...

The landing is uneventful. Even light local air traffic keeps a fair distance from the ship as it descends.

Docking bay 13F is as unattended as the docking bay in Port Noctis on the other side of the planet, but that is where the similarities end. The poured concrete pad is flawless, and the landing markings are clear & bright. A small army of attendant droids wait in sheltered alcoves around the bay, ready to provide fuel and maintenance at a moment's notice. After the ship lands, flood lights turn on as a metal enclosure seals the top of the docking bay - protecting the ship & its cargo from the elements (as well as from orbital imagery).

Everything about the docking bay is clean and efficient, if somewhat lacking in an obvious sentient presence.

ooc: sorry for the delay. It stinks to be on the road sometimes... I'll have more tomorrow evening, but maybe you can discuss the present circumstances if you like.

ooc: Sorry for the delay.

I am currently at the airport (SJC), enroute to Cleveland via everywhere in-between. I had planned to post over the weekend, but family time & packing for 2 wks ate up the time.

I will try to post while I am at the Marriott overnight prior to traveling to eastern Ohio. If not tonight, I should have time tomorrow evening.

(Posted same in Disc thread)

Sorry for the delay.

I am currently at the airport (SJC), enroute to Cleveland via everywhere in-between. I had planned to post over the weekend, but family time & packing for 2 wks ate up the time.

I will try to post while I am at the Marriott overnight prior to traveling to eastern Ohio. If not tonight, I should have time tomorrow evening.

Before long, the ship lifts off the dusty pad, headed heaven-ward. Few of the spaceport's residents look up, knowing that yet another traveler has only come and gone, providing only the least life-giving trade that the outsiders could offer. While the spaceport might go on, it would never be more than a dusty outpost at this rate.

The trip through the skies to the northern continent is a long one. The dimensions of the planet are larger than typical of terrestrial worlds. The mostly barren surface is pitted with the scars of mining operations - both old and abandoned mines, and freshly torn wounds in the planet's surface. While the miners provide valuable raw materials for industry across the sector, one gets the feeling that Phloeron itself is treated in a harsh and unloved way.

The skies and space above Phloeron have resumed a more normal pattern of commerce-bearing traffic. Clusters of TIE fighters dart between merchanter vessels, with the boarding parties from the dreadnought's assault shuttles completely outnumbered and overworked amongst the larger number of freighters currently arriving in the system.

ooc: More later...

As the discussion trails off, Laris' commlink emits a polite twinkle. The tune alerts her that an incoming comm-signal has been re-routed to her personal commlink from the ship's comm.

A hesitant voice can be heard through Laris' commlink. "Hello? Hello? Greetings to you, Miss Maeris Gaille. I am Tulgam, humble servant to Gumal. My master hopes you have traveled many pleasant parsecs, and desires for you to visit Port Bellarin soon. My master would also remind you of the many benefits of the Grey Sector docking bays. My master will know when you arrive, and every effort to ensure an uncomplicated visit will be made."

ooc: Sorry for delays... the honey-do list was long this weekend. I will be on business travel the week after next & the next two weeks after that, but I should have internet access from the hotel.

...

For Soz

..

For Ulula

..

For Cinder

..

For Wade

..

For Elliot

..

For Laris

Laeris opens the locket, and it emits a beam of light towards the floor. A flickering holoimage appears of a man dressed in expensive clothes, his face frozen in a look of perpetual contempt, an exquisite blade hung at his waist.

In his right hand, he holds what appears to be a playing card. Instead of a familiar symbol of swords, cups, hearts, or clubs, the card bears the crest of a noble family.

"To you, this message is intended, my lady. You do not know me, but you know the mark of my employer. Know this: not all who travel with you are what they seem. My employer suggests you think carefully on the paths you choose to follow. Before long, things will be set in motion in such a way that you may never come home again, which would be regretable."

"My employer conveys all the affection that is due to you, and hopes you will return safely to Calder very soon. Until that time, his eye will be upon you."

The man in the holoimage points to his left eye with his left hand.

"And believe me, my lady, there are very few places I cannot follow. If you have need, you may call me Gemini... a name of no real importance."

The man's face breaks into a smile of sorts as the holoimage fades.

ooc: Post with spoiler tags to follow. Everyone will get a spoiler box to open, although perhaps only some will get useful information within the tags. Would have posted this last night, but I fell asleep.

The troupe of actors begin another dramatization based on the acts and works of the Emperor's champion and hero of the Clone Wars, Lord Vader.

The play, occurring after Lord Vader's unfortunate maiming on Mustafar, details the hunt for an unnamed Jedi. This Jedi was once Lord Vader's master (before the Jedi master grew jealous of Vader's skill with a laser sword).

In the play, Lord Vader is portrayed as being unfailingly gentle and kind to loyal subjects of the Empire, once pausing in his quest in order to assist an old woman retrieve her six Keirce cats from a tree. To his enemies, Lord Vader inspires all manner of terror and fright.

At the end of the play, Lord Vader confronts his old master on a space station. The moon-like station had been used as a large orphanage, and the Jedi master had wanted to destroy it. Using his anger and yearning for order & justice, Lord Vader strikes down the Jedi master, who vanishes in a dramatic puff of smoke.

Leaving the tea house and its red door behind them, the crew walks back towards the docking bay where their ship lies waiting.

Wade waits in the intersection, watching the street theatre begin to put on another story.

ooc: okay, I'll have more tomorrow. We'll move on to the rest of the cargo run & the delivery of the synthene.

ooc: Okay, I guess this is where I should move time along? If I don't post in the AM, I will have a game post up in the PM on Monday.

ooc: Also, Captain Mayvar will have used his comlink to inform the group that he's gone off to guard the shipment of medical supplies, and that he's into semi-retirement now. He'll remain on the planet as an NPC & contact for the group.

"Droid, I need a favor. Can you send me a comm if anyone other than this ship's crewmembers enters this docking bay?"

The purple droid hums and chirps affirmatively, halting its rounds briefly to listen to Wade.

The droid pauses to scan Wade (again). Once it locks on to the comm signature and channel of Wade's comlink, the droid beeps again before returning to its ceaseless patrol along the edge of the docking bay.

Soz, Cinder, and Ulula navigate through the Durotown's busy streets, moving back to the tea house.

The crowd parts calmly around Soz, though perhaps closer than he'd like. The press of foot traffic and the narrow distances between pedestrians makes the compression of space inevitable. Still, Soz manages to carve out a niche for the young Cinder to walk behind, carrying an armload of parts.

Nobody dangerous steps into the path of the trio, in any case. And, Ulula notes, nobody seemed to follow the group, either.

Before long, the hurried piping music from the Durese tea house can be heard. Then the red door of the tea house comes into view, and the trio makes their way inside the fragrant eatery.

ooc: still deciding what to do with Mayvar. Should he retire to a quiet life here on Phloeron, or should he stay on as an NPC pilot? I'm not fond of GMPCs, so if he sticks around, it would be on a complementary basis.

Sorry for the delay, things got very busy for me.

He walked into the ship and made a quick check to see if anything had been disturbed. He hoped he was just being paranoid.

ooc: Busy is fine. Happens to all of us. As stated to others... when it's necessary, I'll push the action (such as there is... perhaps it is getting time to move on & start setting up the next job better on my part).

Wade's footfalls echo through the ship. The corridors are empty and dark with the crew scattered around Port Noctis.

If someone has been in here, Wade finds no trace of their having ever been aboard.

Walking to the crew berths, where Wade keeps his spacer's chest, and where Wade bunks in his off-time, Wade sees nothing out of place.

After a few minutes of deliberate searching, Wade is convinced that there was nothing changed or taken from the ship.

Wanting to make sure he wouldn't be handing something deadly over to his employer he opens the box and looks inside.

The box opens without difficulty.

The jeweled locket within the box gives the impression of expense. The silvery metal face of the locket is studded with light blue gemstones, arranged in a hexagon.

Opening the locket reveals some sort of circuitry, including a miniature holoprojector amongst other unrecognizable technology. At once, the blue-ish gemstones on the locket begin to glow. The cruel face of the "visitor" appears in a flickering holo-image. "This message is not for you."

Then the image fades, and the locket returns to an inert state.

If the shop-keeper's still cool, I'll have him look over the parts list I compiled from looking around (to confirm the price), and send the info over to Mayvar/Maeris to confirm the purchase/ request secure payment from their accounts. I'm also curious to talk to the shop-keeper more, he seems an interesting and intelligent sort, but I'm not sure how to segue the conversation after the 'visitor'...?

The human seemed to talk kinda funny...
Was it supposed to be a Core-r haltingly talking in Durese, or what?

The Human was speaking Basic in a loud and obnoxious manner.

The old Duro shopkeeper emerges from behind the shelter of his counter. Where there might be remnants of fear or uncertainty on his face, there is none. His expression is calm and placid. The shopkeeper closes his eyes and says, "Having ridden a wild ur-beast, the poet Esarrb said, difficult moments are made difficulter when you let your blood get up."

Sorting through the various parts laid on his counter, he quickly calculates a total in his mind. "For you, 475 credits. I hope they ease your travels."

When asked of the shop's less welcome "visitor", the old Duro says little. "The man who was here has not been a customer before. He did not seem like a man who has spent much time on an engineering deck."

At the tea house...

The Wellson-Sagma workers begin eating. Plate after plate of steamed, fried, broiled, boiled, or pickled Durese delicacies are brought to the table as the men eat with gusto.

"Pretty good for an old mining world," says the most heavy-set man amongst the W-S transport ship crewmembers. "Maybe not as good as the artisan eateries on Biccara or the famous restaurants on Wazta... but I'd come back here to eat."

The lone Duro amongst the W-S transport ship crewmembers chimes in, saying, "That's because they must get fresh shipments of marine creatures from Dantarran or even Mau Kolto. Probably costs them a fair bit too..."

Says their leader with the Engineer's goggles, "Costs money to do that'un and fly fish in here. Must got some sweetheart deal to get old man money to send fish this way. Must be some sort of action on the side to get someone ."

The other Wellson-Sagma nod quietly, and return to the food in the plates before them.

ooc: okay, I am almost asleep on my feet at this point. Got fuel for rumors in my pack so I can create more game posts tomorrow. Anyway, time to stop while I'm coherent.

Sorry for delays. My eye is better, but the kids have had trouble sleeping, so the blackberry during commute time is the longest stretch of time I have at the moment.

Laris confirms the costs for Ulula, though a mite reluctantly, she sends back a query "Problems?"

Not sure if we're speaking or sending text? Do our communicators have a text message ability?

ooc: Wireless text seems like a sensible comm method now, given that mail/msging was limited to terminals at best when the original movies were shot. I'm sure our email and text will be downright primitive in another couple decades.

In any case, I hope to have more for the tea house group tonight. Maybe my next gadget will be an iPaq or iPod Touch because one mobile device with one screen is just not enough.

I am writing this to announce my giving up PbPs. I've just been re-evaluating my hobbies lately, and the amount of time I spend online is, frankly, obscene. So I'm going to be reducing my forum presence, and that includes PbPs.

At this point, feel free to do what you will with Mayvar's character. Perhaps he just disappeared? Or his "old friends" caught up with him? I leave it up to you all. :)

I thank you for all the good times. :)
Nameless

ooc: Not a problem. Our time here is brief, and only made shorter when we have too many obligations. It's a good thing to step back from the internet.

Mayvar will either off-board here and live a quiet life for the rest of his days, unless I decide that he will return as an npc. Now THERE's an idea...

Good luck to you. If there's ever time for regrets in life, this aint one.

As the door slid open he cleared the code from the keypad and stepped in.

Wade sees the docking bay mostly as he remembered leaving it. The ship, unmoved, squads quietly on its thick landing struts. Long emptied cargo bins and containers are stacked carelessly around the perimeter of the bay.

Wade is not quite alone, however. A dented purple astromech droid, emblazoned with the iconography of the Flumahdi coeporation, whirs and rolls around the bay. It appears to be occupied with the ceaseless task of scanning each (empty) cargo container in a neverending circuit of the facilities. The pointless and soulless task might even be depressing, reminiscent of the shuffling and scavenging that the poor and homeless do in the undercities of Coruscant.

Pausing in front of Wade, the dented droid scans him while emitting a discordant series of beeps and chirps. Then the droid continues to roll along its way towards another cargo bin.

For Wade...

ooc: would have posted mpore, but my left eye is really sore. Either it's tired/strained from staring at computer screens (which I have avoided over the weekend) or my little boy smacked me accidentally while we were napping.

one thought: for a PBP like this, it might work best in combat situations (or high possibility to turn to combat situation like this one) to give distances to the parties involved, i.e. 25 meters or whatever...

ooc: good point about ranges. At minimum, I will be more descriptive in that regard. It may be "paces" rather than meters, and I will avoid using maps if at all if possible.

As Soz steps into the shop, the man spins on his heel and stares at the Duro crewmember. The man is some ten paces from Soz. He holds an elegantly crafted * in his hand. In fact, his crimson clothes must cost a small fortune. Whatever he is, he is no small-time thug. His visit here has some purpose.

ooc: for Soz

Pointing to the shopkeeper, the well-dressed man says, "I see now. You are not one of these. You are with the ship. But she would not enter a shop like this, not with the likes of you. You know of whom I speak. The one who owns your ship. Who likely owns some piece of you."

He reaches his spare hand into an outer vest pocket - not an ideal place to hide a weapon. He withdraws the hand from the pocket, clutching a small jewelry box in his fingers. He tosses the small blue box to Soz. (If Soz elects not to catch it, it hits Soz in the chest & falls harmlessly to the floor)

"See that your owner gets this. The gift explains itself. My name is not important to you. And now, our business is concluded."

The man steps sideways towards the door, carefully watching Soz as he makes his way out of the shop.

"I'm a doctor, by trade. I hire on with ships all across this part of the galaxy. As for why I'm out here, my father ran an independent trading business that routinely came through this end of space. I guess you could say I've been following in his footsteps for the last few years."

If Elliot could see the man's eyebrows under his large engineer's goggles, Elliot would have seen them raise. "A sawbones, eh? Pleasure to meet ya, Doc. Always good to know a doc out here, 'specially a sober one. Last doc we had a'board drank more than the fishes. The name's Ashby, and I'm chief engineer on the Eventide. Company mostly runs big Gozanti ships out here, with heavy escort in some parts. Better to outgun if you can't outrun." (He says the last part with emphasis in case the wrong ears overheard him.)

ooc: this is to remind me to pick up some sector rumors off of my laptop when I am home.

She turned and saw Ulula motioning toward a nearby pile of body and wall parts for interior remodels that would be easy to hide behind, and Cinder nodded eagerly back in agreement.

Stealth (1d20+6=26)

Boots, hard soled, crisp sounding against the rockcrete floor of the parts emporium. Despite the sound of the lone figure marching intently, it almost seems quieter now. Perhaps it is because Cinder and Ulula huddle close behind a screen of wall panels.

The panels are a testament to many eras of hyperspace flight. Old blaster burns mark some, while others look new like the first petals of spring. Some bear ornate scroll patterns in the new Mon Cal high aesthquatic style. Other panels are still plastered with the holo-pinups of space beauties wearing unchaste outfits, as was the style in the Late Republic era.

Through gaps between the shelter of panels, the impressions of a man can be seen. Black boots, shining as if wet. Crimson leathers and cloth, trimmed in black. The rattle of a sword or sabre, slung at the waist.

Leaning ever so closer to the gaps in order to see the man better, Ulula and Cinder see a man in a scarlet waistcoat, the expanse of his back turned towards the two crewmates. The curved vibroblade and the long-barreled sporting blaster of a nobleman rest against his hips beneath a blue-grey sash.

The man studies the shelves of ship parts intently. Not seeing what he needs upon the shelves, he turns to march back to the front. His striking face is a mask of disappointment.

The clipped reports of the man's sharp steps fade again as he addresses the shopkeeper up front. "Citadel-class. Who bought parts. What were their faces like."

The Duro shopkeeper replies, "Disappointment is a dish best served as an appetizer, yes? I have not yet sold a part today for such a ship as you mention."

Again the man speaks, "I saw the parts, sensed the disorder amongst them. Someone has moved them, to purchase them..."

Then the voice from the front of the store stops abruptly, the silence pierced by the ringing of metal. A long blade being pulled free from its sheath.

Turning to the orange group, Elliot asks, "Pardon me, I couldn't help but overhear. You say the Imperials are responsible for your shortened break? What could have caused that?"

Persuasion: 13=6(die)+2(CHA)+5(Trained)

One of the men, wearing shaded engineer's goggles that hide his eyes, grunts loudly when Elliot approaches.

The old whitebeard in the group gestures to a chair when Elliot asks his question. After a moment of thought, he says, "My partners prefer I'd be quiet, but you don't look like no backshootin' space jockey. I s'pose it's no secret what Wellson-Sagma does on worlds like this. We buy rare metals from anyone who wants to sell, if the price be right."

Pointing up to the ceiling, and the sky beyond, the oldtimer continues, "The Empire is here to keep open their supply lines of bulk metals... and they ain't even here to protect legitimate banking concerns as ours.. They screen for weapons, supplies, and known monkeyspanners who want to throw a bolt into their works. We just happened to get caught in the middle. I don't want to be here when this womp rat's nest goes up in flames."

The man in the shaded engineer's goggles raises his voice to speak. "What of you, tenderfoot? What brings a Core worlder dandy to one of the armpits of the galaxy?"

I better go back to the ship. Just in case.

The walk to the ship is short, but made slightly longer out of habit. Instead of walking directly, Wade makes several right turns around the block, sneaking backwards glances over his shoulder with each turn.

Wade notices more off-worlders on the street. Several accents, different fashions and hairstyles, many flight suits and blasters slung openly. Not a solitary face is recognizable, although admittedly the Durese and other non-humans seem difficult to differentiate and recall.

Before long, Wade finds himself walking towards the hangar bay where the ship is docked.

A small stage has been erected at the intersection outside the bay. A man and a woman in half-masks sing a Naboo-style pantomime chronicling a forbidden love between an unnamed Jedi and a Naboo princess. Legions of evil Jedi attempt to thwart their romantic relationship. However, the Jedi, led by the comic buffoonery of Jedi Master Windy, meet their ultimate failure due to the glorious intervention of the Emperor and a band of red-armored troopers in ornate crimson masques.

A small crowd claps appreciatively for the actors, and some even toss small nuggets of precious metals or coins made from the same into a small box in front of the stage.

Wade pauses in front of the man-sized door to the hangar bay. He is certain that he was not followed, and a look at the door tells him that the lock has not been tampered with in a visible manner.

ooc: okay, I'll have more during commute time tomorrow...

Sorry for the delay. Weekend was too short...

............

At the tea house...

The door to the tea house swings open again. Five men in armored vests emblazoned with the fiery orange Wellson-Sagma Bank insignia step inside. Amongst the five, a young Duro leads the way into the parlor.

They set themselves down at a table near the Duro pilots, and wave to the closest pushcart of food.

The Wellson-Sagma Duro says, without being subtle, "Blasted Imperials and their red tape. Our break time is halved..."

An older Human in the Wellson-Sagma group replies, "Everything got a reason to it, and there's a time for ev'ryman's purpose. With the troubles and all, ain't hard to see the reason ain't malice, or causin' trouble for a few hungry coachmen. May as well be mad at gettin' old... and talk like that in the wrong crowd, gettin' old may be no curse to yuh.""

okay, I really need my laptop about now, but all I've got for this is my blackberry... I'll try to get on tonight if it's not too horribly late when I get home.

(in Durese) "...But don't let us interrupt your afternoon tea with your companion. I'll just browse the shelves - Major overhaul here, so no quick rush-job. And don't worry, the little one (Cinder) knows her way around stuff like this - HEY! hands off that!" (in Common)

sorry for the absense, my computer died & is in warranty purgatory, i've been busy, and the board has developed a taste for my posts. i'm definitely still interested in the game :-)

ooc: No problem with absences. I'll work with whatever schedules pan out, and if the game situation is really time-sensitive, I'll put on the Jedi mind trick hat and choose basic actions for your characters in case of an extended absence.

The shopkeeper smiles and calls after Ulula, "If you cannot find what you are seeking, do not be troubled. My students, like Dohlase here, will go out to find it.... or, if they do not go, then it never was important to begin with."

The shelves in the store are laden with greasy bins full of starship parts. The curling signs of Durese icon-writing offer some help in determining what is in the bins, and numerals in Basic list the prices for the various parts.

The prices seem more like guidelines given the varying appearances of the parts in each bin. Some appear new, as if fresh from the Maker's hand (though perhaps some were re-machined or otherwise touched up before arriving in the store). Other parts have visible carbon scoring or other superficial damage, as if the still-useful parts were pulled from wrecks and other nonfunctional hulks.

Eventually, Cinder and Ulula find the row and aisleway where parts appropriate for the Citadel-class ship might be found, far to a back corner of the shop. These bins are not overly full with parts, and some bins only have one or two ugly-looking salvaged parts. However, everything necessary to restore the ship to a fine operational status is here, and a quick mental tally of the pricing labels sets the total at 500 credits.

Towards the front of the shop, Ulula and Cinder hear another voice. It is clear, and loud - the tone of a man used to being listened to. "Parts. Citadel-class. Where."

For Ulula

Rushing back to the shop he left Ulula and Cinder in, Soz waited impatiently outside for them to finish their business.

The trip back to the quiet courtyard is uneventful. Although Soz might be stopped and questioned for being so forward in a Human-controlled part of the galaxy, being amongst his own kind gave Soz a sense of balance and belonging that he seldom felt in the cold & uncaring universe.

Staying too long wasn't too much of an option, though. This sort of place wasn't a good home for a wanderer and a vagabond with a still healing hole in his guts where mind-blotting chemicals once filled.

The courtyard is empty now, except for Soz. He was about to daydream when the steady sound of footfalls brought him back to attention.

The two well-dressed Humans walking through the alleyway towards the courtyard pay little attention to Soz, believing him to be part of the local scenery.

The Humans are both male, and healthy-looking (not you typical soft-in-the-middle pinkskin). Both of them look the part of rich merchanteer crew, but both also wear sleek blaster pistols strapped to their legs.

One Human gestures silently to his partner while continuing to walk towards the store. The other Human casually looks down the alley, following the unspoken instructions of his boss.

ooc: sorry all for the delay. Been a tough week. I'll do my best to have more posts up during my morning commute. Hopefully this post makes sense because my eyes were half shut.

Laris is going to try and get a feel for things on planet, does anyone know anything about the imperial ship in orbit and what it's purpose is, are there going to be any difficulties in moving the Synthene north?

The ancient Duro seated behind the tea house's credit box strokes his hairless chin thoughtfully and says, "Synthene... Phloeron people have small need, no big need of such.. Phloeron is quiet planet. Perhaps if miners start big fight, then Synthene become much value. If friend in North want Synthene, then safe docking bay will be arranged, no question asked - that would be guess of mine, good lady."

As for the ship in orbit, the ancient Duro shrugs his shoulders. Such concerns do not affect his business.

ooc: Will have more in next post.

"Its possible," Wade said. "I'm considering a small job for a day or two while I'm planetside, keeping things simple for now, if it doesn't conflict with my current employer's needs. Perhaps I can leave my comm frequency, and if you hear of any work you can contact me, for a finder's fee."

The large Twi'lek woman taps her thick fingers on the table thoughtfully, and says, "I may have some work for someone who is discrete and can think, which is sometimes rare here. My poor, dear uncle up north is often in need of certain medicines.

"If you noticed here in Port Noctis, the authorities at the port are rather hands-off, perhaps? Port Bellarin's port authorities are far more vigilant. And they are mindful of anything shipped northward by train.

"I will talk with my dear uncle, and perhaps I will have a small package for you to bring to him."

The woman smiles unpleasantly at Wade, and takes note of his comm frequency if it is offered.

OOC: I will have more for everyone on my commute home tonight. Getting close to work now.

Turning to the people, Elliot said, "Harritt Locard, you said? I'm sorry, ma'am, but you appear to have confused me for someone else. I do, however, know some miners that would probably like to better their fortunes."

The woman's large and brutish companion stands nearby, his thick arms folded awkwardly across his barrel chest.

The woman smiles pleasantly at the prospect of a potential business contact, and seats herself quietly across the table from the Doctor.

"The mines of Nenaxis are not pleasant, even for experienced miners. The pay scale reflects that. However, with the credits they will pay to break the miner's union here on Phloeron, is it any wonder that we've had trouble keeping our miners on the line? My employer sent us here to sell some of our older excavating equipment because it was sitting idle. Now, we are seeking new workers to bring back with us... so if you do have any leads, my employer would certainly pay for such assistance."

Just wanted to point out a website I found useful for my last few posts, when looking for imprecations, derogatory modifiers and atmospheric exclamations:

A Mouth Like An Intergalactic Princess: Cussing In A Galaxy Far, Far Away

Nice link :)

A lot of the sources are EU, but it does help to set the proper mood...

Okay, time to continue thinking about the next couple game thread posts. The vacation was too short, and I had to chase a lizard out of the bathroom (have no idea how a small lizard got up to the master bathroom on the 2nd floor)... but there's still one more day of rest for me :)

...

I am looking at small press stuff these days. Wondering if I can put Star Wars stuff into a better fleet battles system.

Even if it's a huge improvement over the last D20 version, the Saga Edition starship book is still not enough, and the ship minis game apparently was not that great.

There's a system that looks simple enough to do HUGE fleet conflicts on hex grids, maybe even with inertia-based vector movement (totally un-Star Wars, though).

Maybe down the road if I do a Clone Wars or Mandalorean Wars game.

For Cinder, Soz, Ulula...

A few questions in Durese, and Soz soon points the trio of crewmates into the small open-air market. The crowds and closed-in feeling of the space makes Cinder feel slightly more at ease, momentarily making her forget the open sky above.

Soz then leads Cinder and Ulula towards an alleyway with a simple teal sign above it. A single Durese word is painted on the face of the sign - "Uncertain".

The alleyway leads into an open courtyard. Four flat-leafed trees in each of the corners of the rectangular open space, providing ample shade from the sun. An old Duro woman sweeps dust and dessicated leaves into a simple metal pan at the far end of the courtyard.

Along one of the walls of the courtard is a simple teal doorway. Above the doorway, a red sign with swirling Duro lettering advertises Nenaze's Imports. The door is open, and when the group goes inside, they see two Duros chatting. One is seated at a simple table, dressed in a silvery longcoat. The other Duro stands nearby, wearing a greasy jumpsuit.

Seeing potential customers, one of whom being a Duro, the seated Duro in the longcoat stands and addresses the group."Location, location, and location. Bah! If you sell nothing truly valuable, then location is all you have to make yourself important to your customers. If you sell what is valuable, your customers will come to you. In this manner, one might achieve a more harmonious duality between importance and non-importance, wouldn't you say?"

Looking around the interior of the store, the crewmembers see all manner of parts and pieces of electronic gear. Some might describe this as a junk shop, but to technical folks such as Ulula or Cinder, the variety of parts & the overall sense of order in the Duro's arrangement of parts makes him more interesting than a junk peddler. He has an eye for used but valuable parts, which sets him apart from those who carry shelves full of junk.

ooc: Cinder's last post reminds me... I'd still like some ideas for previous Captains & Ships for any of the party members. I am creating some myself, but if you have neat ideas, let me know.

For those in the tea house...

New visitors enter the common room of the tea house as other visiting ships clear their cargo. A trio of Duros finds a table near the entrance, their gaudy flight suits making them easily identifiable as non-native to the planet. They look suspiciously at the non-Duro in the tea house as they speak quietly to each other in Durese.

Soon after the Duros settle into their chairs and enjoy their first cups of tea, a professionally dressed Human woman ducks into the tea house door, quickly looking for a place to sit. She taps at a matte black data pad distractedly, then locks eyes with Elliot, who is sitting by himself.

Behind the corporate-looking woman is a brutish and large Human male wearing ill-fitting, bulky clothes. He is most likely her bodyguard or protector. He too surveys the scene, then sizes up Elliot - most likely for an entirely different reason than the woman's reasons.

The woman quickly makes her way over to Elliot's table. "Haeritt Locard? I was informed that you might know several good miners who would be willing to relocate to Nenaxis."

Okay, if I get time, I'll try to arrange some info on a wiki & post a link here. There's a couple different free wiki sites that I'm looking at, and if I can make the planets in the setting more wiki-ish, maybe it will help flesh out the environment for us all.

I'm used to looking up stuff on the wookiepedia, and I don't know if I can guarantee a similar look & feel. However, if I can borrow an idea or two from there (look & feel for planet layouts, for instance), then I will.

*sigh* Forum ate another post.

Okay, was just going to say that you're all going to be awarded for avoiding that fight earlier (i.e. gain experience equal to defeating the equivalent CL of those shipment-jackers)... not that you HAD to avoid the fight, but you did eliminate the situation & should be rewarded for that.

If you want more fights/less fights, let me know. I will try to provide opportunities for fights, but if there is too little fighting or too much fighting, I can always fine tune it as we go.

If only D20 games weren't so clunky with the fights these days... ;)

For Elliot...

Downstairs, the conversations are fairly muted and light. Duro patrons order small plates of food and various kinds of off-world tea, and mainly discuss the merits of the cullinary arts, when they speak in Basic.

Occasionally, Elliot can hear talking from the drug-addled patrons on the second floor lofted space.

Otherwise, the most interesting talk at present comes from the Twi'lek woman that Wade is chatting with.

ooc: I'll have more tonight when I'm on my laptop. Got some ideas for stuff to throw at you all.

For Wade...

The Twi'lek woman smiles, baring her fanged teeth in a broad grin. "Flattery will get you anywhere, handsome. But what's there to know? Port Noctis may be the center of things, here in the South... but there isn't much to it. Now, you'll hear big talk from those miners come down from the North, but to me, it looks like the company men busted up their organizations pretty easy. It'll be twice as hard for those rock-busters to go back up there & do to the company men what's already been done to the miners. The miners' groups are just too many, too disorganized to do much of anything but bring the hammer of the Empire on us all."

Gesturing towards the other off-worlders who have entered the tea house, the woman continues. "Outsiders and off-worlders come to unload equipment, or so they say. How much of these equipment and supply runs are for people with bad intentions up North? Must be a lot. At times, it makes it tough for legitimate businesspeople like myself to do honest business. Patrols of the shipping lanes by the corporate types and the governor... it's driven up the cost of doing business!"

She stops for a moment, and smiles. "Of course, opinions are free. If you'd like to talk business, it might cost something, depending on the types of business arrangements you might be after."

Won't be posting Monday or Tuesday, as I'm going to be camping with some friends. I'll be back to normal on Wednesday, and ready for action.

No problem. I'm expecting some delays due to the July 4 holiday here in the U.S.

For Wade...

The large Twi'lek woman shifts her weight in an almost Hutt-like fashion. If she does not serve the local Hutts, she seems familiar with their mannerisms.

"I don't own this place... I just provide the old Duro with a bit of the action. If there's a bright part of the galaxy, this isn't it... it's the underside of the rear end of the dark parts, pinkskin. It's a real nerf hole, but it's quiet... and that's all a girl asks for when she's looking to retire.

"The difficult part is maintaining a good supply of product here. It is difficult to get reliable couriers, and doubly so if there's any rumor of Imperials making a mess of things top-side."

The Twi'lek peers over Wade's shoulder as several strangers enter the tea house.

For Captain Mayvar, Laris, Elliot (assuming this is a group for simplicity's sake)

Mayvar, Laris, and Elliot enter the red-doored tea house at the same time as a pair of other off-worlders.

The off-worlders are both Human males, and have the spacer's look about them. Their style of dress is unlike the locals. The manner with which they carry themselves speaks of a certain confidence and independence that is more rare amongst the downtrodden and planet-bound. They quickly find a table near the doorway.

One of the off-worlders has bloodshot eyes & has a rattling cough. Mayvar has no real interest in picking up whatever microbe the man is carrying, so the Captain strikes up a conversation with the other off-worlder.

"Perto Guroon, navigator from the freighter Comet's Wake. We just come in from Calder, carrying some light machinery and basic droids to sell. Nobody buying up at Port Bellarin, maybe because of the miner's strike. We had to come down here. My partner picked up something of a cough while he was on Calder."

As the food cart comes past the table, the off-worlder orders a few small dishes, and then continues talking.

"Our Captain plans to take on a consignment of ingots and ore, but I don't know where we're going next. Corporate shipping runs most metal runs to the shipyards at Wazta, so it's often the smaller players who buy metal off independents like us. Builders on Biccara who want things like Tritanium to use in alloys for crazy buildings... the shipyards at Junisk, who take whatever metals that don't get taken up by the military shipyards at Wazta... the factories on Gaulus, where many bigger outfits don't want to deal with the toxic atmosphere... Captain has done all those runs before."

For Ulula, Cinder, and Soz...

The wide main streets of the spaceport in the old Durotown section have a number of narrow side streets leading into darkened alleys, most likely to communal courtyard residences where many Duro families share one central open space together.

Speaking in Duro, Soz asks several locals where the best shops might be to find starship parts. The best prices and least dishonest merchantmen are some blocks away from the docking bays, near the open air food market at the heart of Port Noctis' Durotown. Says one old Duro spacer in a woven reed hat, "Citadel cruiser? You'll want to find the shop of Nenaze the Runner. He has many friends, some of them are even legitimate. He will most likely have that which you need."

...

The walk towards the open air food market is pleasant, and takes the trio past at least one open docking bay where a newly landed Corellian ship is taking on several large pallets, laden with metal ingots.

The crowd becomes more dense closer to the market. The noises become louder, the smells become more pungent. Dirty-looking eateries, general stores, and other small businesses line the sides of the street in this district of the Durotown. Any one of the eateries might serve a great tasting dish of live Urchin Delight... they are all filled with patrons in spite of the dive-y outward appearance of the small restaurants.

Finding the junk shop of Nenaze the Runner might prove more difficult, however. "Alleyway, other end of the market" is the closest to a set of directions that Soz is able to gather from the pedestrians around the market.

I looked to see if there was some sort of "shaken" condition I could apply to Cinder while she was outside, but couldn't find it. If there is something of the sort that I"m unaware, of, though, I figure Cinder's agoraphobia would give her the appropriate penalties.

There's always the Condition track... and this is something better suited to other gaming systems, I guess, where you'd get some + for picking a phobia.

Or, if it were Dark Heresy, you're just unlucky scum who will most likely be cannon fodder for a real Inquisitor (not that the other scum in your group have much of a chance either) ;)

For those who remain in the docking bay...

After the labor droids have taken last cargo containers out of the docking bay, the cone-headed R3 droid beeps and whistles again as it accesses further holo-images in its memory banks.

A new projection of holo-spokeswoman Trenn Liada shimmers into view, again wearing modernist Corporate wear and a pleasant smile.

"Flumahdi Unlimited thanks you for concluding your business transaction in one of our many convenient spaceport locations. An encrypted message containing the keycode for this docking port has been sent to your ship's communications array. Keypads for entering this code are next to the main docking bay door, and a smaller pedestrian door adjacent to the main door."

The main doors to the docking bay begin to slide closed automatically, and a yellow light flashes above a medium-sized pedestrian door to the right of the main doors. The noise from the crowd outside immediately dies down as the doors seal shut.

Two of the astromech droids beep at each other, while the "spokesdroid" conjures up one remaining holo-projection of Trenn Liada.

"If you have no further requests, Flumahdi Unlimited wishes you a prosperous journey. While you are within the spaceport, you may send a comm message to channel 10-zeta-7 to page a concierge droid at any time, and we would be happy to assist you... for a nominal fee. And the next time you are in a Flumahdi spaceport, remember Flumahdi fuels - the stuff that puts the drive in hyperdrive!"

As the droid's message ends, the trio of astromech droids begin to wheel themselves towards the small pedestrian exit from the docking bay.

Overhead, the sound of other spacecraft landing at Port Noctis fills the air.

meh... it ate my post...

BTW, do we all have a security/door code to the ship (& hangar?) or what?

I also had a post eaten, but this time it was my Opera Mini browser experiencing some sort of error.

Good point. About the security code. I would have had a post about that... Technology is great, though.

Good :)
in fact, it gives me an idea for another game post.

I don't mean to set you all at odds, and you all seem to be fine roleplayers who can find a happy medium... but some tension was what I was hoping for.

Maybe if this were the Mandalorean Wars, the separate goals might be bad, but hopefully it makes for a more interesting & living setting.

For Wade...

As Wade stands by the twi'lek woman's table, a vacant-eyed Neimoidian from the second floor loft also stumbles towards the same table. He smells of burnt flowers mixed with industrial-grade cleaning supplies, and whatever it is makes Wade's eyes water.

One of the males attending the woman conducts a silent transaction with the stumbling Neimoidian, solely through the use of hand gestures. Money is exchanged, a small red paper packet is handed to the Neimoidian, who vanishes back up the stairs.

The large Twi'lek woman looks at Wade as if she were eyeing her next meal. "You don't have the scent of the opiated yet, nor do you have the build of a rock breaker. We have heard there's an Imperial ship topside, so you can't be a messenger from my supplier... whom I do not know, and you aren't looking for, are you? Now, you could be an Imperial agent, but you wouldn't be interested in a simple provider in this two-bit town. So I ask myself, what kind of pinkskin offworlder just walked in to my parlour? Are you here for business or for pleasure?"

The woman's green head tail flicks in a vulgar manner as she smiles politely.

Sorry my query was about the contact for the Synthene, is he within communication/land travel range or is he in a different city/locale.

Port Bellarin is on the northern hemisphere, and is the main spaceport for the corporate-dominated north. Laris' contact is out of range of handheld commlinks, but the ships's comm system should be able to reach him.

Port Bellarin is geographically distant from the ship's location, although the extensive maglev rail network should be able to take the crew and the Synthene cargo there for a fee.

The passage will take more time than flight, but land transport will be more difficult to track & interdict (if that is the primary concern).

For Wade...

Wade hears the clackety-clack sound of Duro gambling blocks from behind a door to the rear of the tea house. If there's a back room for gambling, there must be a way into the back alley from there.

Out in the main room of the two-storied tea room, a steep flight of stairs leads to a narrow balcony that overlooks the front of the house. Most botanical-smoking patrons gather on that second-floor loft, avoiding eye contact with the house's other patrons.

The ground floor of the tea house hosts a number of patrons of various interstellar species. Duro and Neimoidian represent the majority, with some Humans, and a few individuals of other species as well.

None of the patrons look familiar to Wade, including the Duro.

A skinny Neimoidian waitress pushes a hovering metal cart around the ground floor of the tea house, offering small plates of various Neimoidian luncheon dishes.

A fat Twi'lek woman sits in a corner, eyeing Wade thoughtfully as two young Human males massage her head tails.

The ancient Duro owner of the tea house stands behind a counter, humming cheerfully to the music coming out of a cheap speaker placed behind his wrinkly head.

For those remaining in the docking bay...

A sense of normalcy returns to the crew's surroundings, if anything in the life of an independent freighter crew's life might be deemed "normal".

The bustle of dockside life fills the air with a sense of vitality that is absent in a freighter's closed quarters. The terrestrial air itself carries alien scents and sounds, quite unlike those remembered from the ship's last port of call. Every next journey through hyperspace has brought each of the crew one step further from the sense of "home" as some static point in the universe.

As the droids carry off the last of the crates of medical supplies, a new set of dockyard droids wheel their way into the docking bay. A trio of astromech droids, each bearing the logos and badges of various corporate advertising efforts - no doubt the original investors in the spaceport.

The lead droid, a cone-headed R3 unit bearing the purple crescent of the Flumahdi fuel processing conglomerate, begins displaying a holo-advertisement.

The cheerful and comely image of the famous faux-Human holo-construct, Trenn Liada, stands in front of the crew, dressed in her usual modernist Corporate Sector wear.

"On behalf of our chief executive and merciless taskmaster, I bid you welcome to Port Noctis. Flumahdi Unlimited offers a host of refueling options, repair services, starship parts, and more. Just indicate your needs to our concierge droids, and they will be happy to accomodate you... for a nominal fee. Remember Flumahdi fuels - the stuff that puts the drive in hyperdrive!"

In the street beyond the docking bay, junk shops, souvenir stands, eateries, and other typical dockside establishments await. Although the pedestrians streaming past the entrance to the docking bay do their best to avoid eye contact with strangers, it might be possible to enquire about directions to any facilities that the crew requires.

ooc: I don't mind the group taking separate paths. I may put some scenes in spoiler tags if the secrecy enhances things (or if character details require them). Feel free to spoilerize your posts as needed. Otherwise, I will try to identify the story threads early on & you all can read what you like.

Mayvar watches the laboring droids lurch and sway, two droids hefting each white plasteel crate down the ship's cargo ramp. Their unpleasing steps and motions drive themselves and their cargo without a fault, however.

The droids plod steadily out of the docking bay, threading directly into the flow of traffic outside. After a short walk that goes past the red-doored tea house, the droids shuffle around a corner to another gateway. Past two burly Gamorreans (one slumped over a chair, asleep), the droids move the crates of medical supplies into the cargo loading area of the maglev spur line headed for Connmohr.

Blue painted loading droids within the shaded cargo area stand silently, awaiting the arrival of the train. The lone sentient within the cargo bay (a decrepit old Neimoidian) takes note of the number of white plasteel crates being placed within his care. As each of the pairs of loading droids deposits a white plasteel crate within the cargo bay, the old Neimoidian scans and logs the container to ensure that its passage has already been paid for.

As the last of the crates is hauled into the cargo area, a grunt of warning from the non-sleeping Gamorrean informs Mayvar that his business watching over the supplies has ended.

The old overseer steps slowly outside, and rudely hands Mayvar an archaic-style paper bill of goods, the claim ticket for the consignment of medical supplies.

The Neimoidian points down the street towards a large metal archway, with curling Duro letters molded into the ironwork. Speaking in rudely toned Basic, the old cargo overseer says, "Passenger area is that way, pinkskin."

He then wanders back towards the cargo bay, muttering about the good ol' days when armies of battle droids marched at his command.