Spok, WA ROLEPLAY ? "Sandstorm Blues" ? ROLEPLAY

OOC: I know there are boards specifically for this, but Erich and I were talking last night and we decided it would be fun to do this on our own boards. The rules are simple, keep it practical and keep it contiguous, stay in the correct timeline and don't let things get too unbelievable. That being said, our story will take place between Episode IV and Episode V. Post the stats/characteristics of the character you'll be playing first, all characters must be original, then jump right in! Keep in mind that you're particular part of the story does not have to take place in the same location as the initial starting point, ala switching back and forth between different events, as Lucas does in the movies, e.g. a gunfight on Tatooine while a space battle is occuring in the Dathomir system. I'll get us started...

Name - Jarus Sarn
Species - Human
Profession - Smuggler, Pilot, Gunslinger
Home Planet - Corellia
Weapons - Modified DL-44 XT Heavy Blaster Pistol (silver frame with the words "Last Ditch" etched in Aurabesh on the barrel, worn in black leather thigh holster)
Ships - YT-1300 Freighter "Booster Blue" (blue flames painted on forward mandibles)
Droids - R8-D4 Green Astromech Droid
Appearance - Scruffy, short brown hair with sideburns and a chin goatee. Black boots, a black side-buttoning shirt, Second Class Corellian "Blood Stripes" (brown with yellow broken stripes), a black pistol belt, and a grey leather jacket jacket.

IC:

Intro:
It's a hot, dusty day; like any other day, nothing out of the ordinary. People come and go from the seedy starport. Merchants set up makeshift tents and sell their wares. Bounty Hunters meet with contacts in back-rooms in search of leads, A musician stands on the corner playing his Fizzz for passersby. A shifty rodian is getting frisked by some stormtroopers looking for contraban. A young boy sits on a bench tinkering with a broken sandstat, and a waart sunbathes on a hot desert rock just outside the sprawling city.

A large rumbling approaches and an imposing shadow passes overhead rousing the waart from his heat induced slumber, the creature fumbles to its feet and hops off the rock. Welcome to Mos Eisley...

The large Corellian freighter starts its landing cycle and begins to set down in docking bay 56 it's bright blue engine glow slowly fading as it draws closer to the ground. Landing gear prepped, the behemoth finally touches down, jets of steam shoot out of its belly venting exhaust stored from is lenthy landing procedure. The boarding ramp slowly opens and a young scruffy looking Corellian strolls out, he wanders to the front mandibles of his YT-1300 and runs his fingers gently along the blue flames painted on her hull. After a few steps he realizes that something's not right, he runs back to the boarding ramp and sticks his head into the ship.

"I'm not going to wait all day!"

OOC: Go!

 

Wipe-pan to the cockpit of a non-descript YT-2600 light stock freighter

"You'll wait as long as we deem neccessary, citizen."

Flustered by this umpteenth beaurocratic hurdle, the captain was loosing his patience. "For the last time, we are carrying personell and supplies to aid the Alderaanian refugees! We've already been cleared for departure by- What's your operating number?"

The mouths kept talking, but the conversation was over. Listening via comm by the docking hatch, a lean, lanky Wookie waited in silence. Silence, but not stillness. He was a blur of motion, arms arcing and legs sweeping in an elaborate martial arts kata.
It wasn't wise for a Wookie to be seen too far from home carrying the honor-weapons of his people. Better to rely on body and mind.

The wookie scoffed to himself, disrupting the flow of his routine. The captain was an idiot. Referring to what was left of the people of Alderaan as "refugees" was a mistake. A critical one. It implied a peaceful people had been the victims of an unspeakable atrocity. A lot of Imperials didn't like that implication, especially stiff-collared officers who refused to beleive their beloved Emperor or precious New Order would do such a thing.

This was only going to end one way now. The ship was about to be boarded.

(OOC: Name and profile in the next post).

 

*back in the Mos Eisley Spaceport*

"I'm coming..."

Came a shrill voice in Rodese. Down the ramp came a rodian of average height and average build, but this rodian was far from average, he was albino. White lumps adorned his bright skin, which contrasted greatly against his blazing red eyes. He had the typical rodian head frills, a mohawk, and then some additional face frills, running from the bottom of his ears, along his jawline to his mouth, like some kind of alien "mutton chops". he was dressed in mercenary attire, with a pistol at his hip and an imposing carbine strapped across his back.

"Did you remember to "secure" the cargo?

The young Corellian asked as if for the umpteenth time.

"All secure, where are we headed?"

Came the rodian's reply.

"Cantina, got a tip that someone's interested in doing some 'business' with us."

A slight smirk came over the rodians sucker-like mouth.

"I love it when you say it like that, it almost makes it sound legit..."

 

OOC:

I will post just this for now. Story to follow tonight.

Name - Tralmek
Species - Mon Calamari
Profession - Bio-Engineer/Medic, Rifleman/Hunter
Home Planet - Mon Calamari
Weapons - A sleek Laser Rifle, kept stowed in his ship except for when hunting or on...special occasions
Ships - ?Krakanas Teeth? a SoroSuub PLY 3000 pleasure yacht, outfitted with light weapons and nearly perfect shields. Tralmek is also a crewmember of ?Booster Blue.?
Droids - ?Punto? a silver MSE droid, dumb as a post and rarely used.
Appearance - A light silver color with a network of steel-colored markings. Clothing varies.
Personality Traits - Tralmek is a calm Mon Calamari, logical and grounded. However he is still good in a firefight, both in a ship and on the ground. Although his best friend is Jarus Sarn, Tralmek retains an almost irrational fear and loathing of humans due to the Empire?s enslavement of Mon Calamari people for their ship crafting skills. Recently, Tralmek has not been as open as he once was with Sarn or his other friends....

[image=http://www.calcreations.net/screenShot0221.jpg]

 

*Mos Eisley Spaceport - Continuous*

A slight smirk came over the rodians sucker-like mouth.

"I love it when you say it like that, it almost makes it sound legit..."

"And the Force forbid you run anything legitimate."

The voice came from behind the landing strut of a ship even larger than Blue. Instantly recognizing the gravelly tones, Jarus's hand did not go to his blaster as it was prone to do these days. Instead he casually turned in the direction of the voice, a smirk breaking across his face.

"What the hell'er you doing in Mos Eisley. I thought you had more important things to do than move cargo with us."

Tralmek strode from behind Krakanas Teeth, crossing the bay to Jarus. He shrugged.

"Just over in Bestine and I saw the Blue's description in the traffic scans." Tralmek shrugged. "I thought I'd hop over and see if I could keep you out of trouble."

 

*Mos Eisley Spaceport - Continued*

"Keep me out of trouble? Now what kind of talk is that... you know our motto..." Jarus waited only a few moments, fully knowing what would be coming next. Before Tralmek could say anything, there came a spry young voice from the bowles of the monsterous ship.

"Getting into trouble. Getting out of trouble. It's what we do." A smile spread across the young man's lips as he walked down the boarding ramp and caught sight of the gruff old Mon Calamari. Daramin was slightly above average in height with a buzz cut and a soul patch, he was wearing, a stark black and white performing suit, very fitting for such an accomplished musician. "You see Tral, there's no way of keeping him from it, he'll always find some way into it."

The Mon Calamari looked slightly pleased at the sight of Daramin. "I suppose you're right, well, I think I'll still have a few drinks with you anyway."

"It's good to see you again Tral." Jarus said as he threw his arm over Tralmek's shoulder, "now about that drink..."

 

*Mos Eisley Cantina - A short while later*

Tralmek allowed Jarus and Daramin to preceed him into the cantina. Jarus made a beeline for the bar and ordered a Corellian Brandy from Wuher, the surley barkeep. Daramin dis the same. Wuher turned to Tralmek, sneering.

"What for you?"

"You already know what I want."

"Yeh, yeh." Wuher went into the back room, and a few seconds later Chalmun came roaring out. He towered above even other Wookiees, and dwarfed nearly everyone in the establishment. The Wookiee bounded over to Tralmek and hugged him.

"Chalmun," Tralmek said. "I'm glad you were here this time. Wuher doesn't know the first thing about Foamwander Gav."

Chalmun growled, scowling in the barkeep's direction.

"--human. I know," Tralmek chuckled as the huge alien mixed his drink.

Tralmek took the Gav and thanked the Wookiee who retreated to the back room again. Nodding to his friends, the Calamari raised his glass and took a drink. "It's on me today."

 

OCC: it's a little long, but here is my first post.
Name: Daramin Nasarim
Species: Human
Profession: Musician, Dancer, ventral gunner
Homeplanet: None (a fairly short story)
Weapons: Cannons onboard "Booster Blue", sword when necessary
Ships: None
Apperance: Tan skin, short brown hair, clean shaven except for a soul patch. He changes outfits for different performances but often wears black pants with white stripes and a white shirt with black shoulders.

IC
*Jarus Sarn?s ship, ?Booster Blue?*

"I'm not going to wait all day!"
Sarn?s voice reverberated through the hollows of the ship, distracting Daramin from his roll.

?No, wait?? he fumbled but the twenty sided fell from his hand onto the table.

?Oh, not quite,? Neevo chuckled. He gathered the stack of credits from the table and pocketed them. ?Are you ever going to learn, Daramin??

?Probably not.? Daramin rolled the die around, thankful that it was only a small handful. ?Should we keep him waiting??

Neevo rested his chin on his hand a second before answering.

?Nah, business calls.?

?You?re right.? Daramin stood, leaving the die. ?I?ll be right down.?

Neevo nodded and disappeared around the curve of the corridor. Daramin looked around, apparently lost. Finally he gave up and headed towards the ramp. Voices wafted up along with the hot Tatooine air.

"I thought I'd hop over and see if I could keep you out of trouble." Came a familiar, gravelly voice. He started down the ramp as heard Jarus? reply.

"Keep me out of trouble? Now what kind of talk is that... you know our motto..."

"Getting into trouble. Getting out of trouble. It's what we do." Daramin called, not missing a beat. He emerged from the ship, narrowly missing the bulkhead. His near fall left a smile on the faces of the three men surrounding the ship. Ignoring the misstep, Daramin kept talking.

"You see Tral, there's no way of keeping him from it, he'll always find some way into it."

The Mon Calamari looked slightly pleased at the sight of Daramin.

"I suppose you're right, well, I think I'll still have a few drinks with you anyway."

"It's good to see you again Tral." Jarus said as he threw his arm over Tralmek's shoulder, "now about that drink..."

Tralmek nodded and the human and the Mon Calamari made their way outside of the starport, with Daramin and Neevo following close behind. A hot breeze spun clouds of dust around their feet as they walk.
Inside the cantina was a welcome relief from the sun. Daramin glanced at Tralmek, then stepped up to the bar with Jarus.

?Wuher, one Corellian brandy,? Jarus called. The cranky bartender eyed Sarn the glanced at Daramin.

?The same.? Wuher reached around the counter behind him, paused for a second and set two drinks in front of the men. Daramin let the drink sit for a minute and turned to survey the other patrons.
A few dancers occupied the floor near the entrance, mostly to draw attention from new customers and earn a few credits. He resisted the urge to join them; Jarus said they were here on business.

?Jarus?? Daramin asked, as he turned to his friend. Daramin paused as he noted the massive Wookie towering above him, then continued. ?You said we had business??

Before Jarus could answer, a group of 5 men marched up to them. They were pilots to judge by their clothes and in desperate need of a shower. None of them looked too happy. Jarus sized them up and smiled at Daramin. Daramin stood and said, "Help you, gentlemen?"

Then he was flying across the cantina, landing on the rough floor.

OCC: Sorry that it took me a while to post. Nice to see Tralmek, though. And things are spicing up a little.
Tag, Jarus.

 

*Mos Eisley Cantina - Continued*

Jarus watched his friend go sailing across the bar and crash into a few tables, after only a few seconds Jarus' gleaming silver pistol was out of it's holster and pointed at the thug's leader. Neevo had followed suit and drawn his imposing carbine.

"No Blasters!" Wuher blurted out. He knew it'd do no good, but he had to try.

Everyone paused, the thugs slowly lowered their blasters in step with Sarn and Neevo. As soon as the thug's blasters were no longer pointed at him, Sarn made his move, he spun his blaster around as it was reaching its holster, and grabbed it by the barrel, before the thug could react, Sarn clocked him square in the jaw with his blaster's handle. The thug went flying back and sprawled across the bar. The remaining 4 thugs prepared for a fight. Without loosing any momentum, Sarn rushed the next thug, first knocking the blaster from his grip, then landing a solid blow to his temple, rendering him unconscious. Neevo dove at the next thug and tackled him to the ground, using the side of his carbine as a nightstick he pinned the thug down at the neck. In a vain attemt to rescue his comrade from the wiley rodian, one of the remaining two thugs lunged at Neevo. Using his massive ears, Neevo was able to hear the thug coming and rolled out of the way, letting the thug land on top of his buddy. Neevo quickly leapt to his feet and introduced the stock of his carbine to the thug's face. The thug slammed agains the bar, then dropped to the floor. Sarn and the remaining thug, who were previously watching Neevo's dirty work, suddenly remembered that they were in a fight, and one of them was going to loose. The thug reacted quickly by pulling a knife from his boot and waving it about menacingly. Sarn acted cool and waited for the thug to make his move. After waiting for a few seconds the thug lunged at Sarn with the knife, with lightning fast reflexes, Sarn reached out and grabbed the thug's incoming wrist and diverting the knife from it's course. While redirecting the knife, Sarn also managed to spin around his opponent, their backs met and Sarn spun his left elbow back, applying it liberally to the back of the thug's head. For a moment there was a look of excruciating pain on the thug's face, then simply none at all as he dropped to the ground. Sarn looked around the Cantina for Neevo. Neevo had gone to help Daramin to his feet. Sarn surveyed the damage then looked to Wuher who did not at all look pleased. Sarn shrugged helplessly. "You said no blasters..."

Wuher sighed at this obvious truth and went back to washing the cup in his hands. Tralmek scooted out of the booth and up to the bar. He patted Wuher on the shoulder and dropped a fairly hefty sum of credits on the bar, at least enough to pay for the drinks and the damage.

"Sorry for the trouble." grumbled Tralmek. Wuher nodded, by now he was used to it. Just then a rugged looking young man strolled through the front door. Out of sheer paranoia Sarn and Neevo again reach for their guns, only to immediatly ease off them.

"Looks like I missed the party..." The young man smiled. He loved a good bar fight, especially when Sarn was involved. Jorik was a young ex-military man, a mercenary by trade, and a troublemaker by hobby. He wore a grey fatigue jacket and grey cargo pants with standard black uniform boots and a light grey muscle shirt. He had a carbine slung across his back, but his jacket housed a more numerous collection of pain-inducing devices. Jorik had short mussy brown hair and a neat trimmed beard. Sarn walked up to meet him at the cantina enterance.

"You're late," Sarn muttered. The tip about a job that Jorik had given him was obviously a set-up.

"Sorry, I got delayed leaving Dantooine." was Jorik's only excuse.

"Last time I follow your 'tips." Jarus mused as he walked out the door, followed by the other four crew members. The suns were beating down hard as the crew headed for some shade on their way back to the spaceport.

"Who were they?" Jorik asked.

"Valarian's" Neevo commented.

"Mo

 

IC:
*Inside Mos Eisly cantina- continuous*

Daramin landed hard, nearly slamming his head onto the sandy floor. He rolled behind a nearby table amid the feet of other patrons, who had suddenly become quiet as the ruckus continued. Pulling himself up, Daramin could see Jarus and Neevo scuffling with the thugs. One thug slammed against the bar, assited by a helpful punch from Jarus. Daramin had to smile as he noticed that Tralmek seemed fairly undisturbed by fight.
Getting to his feet, the musician noted a human dancer, fair skinned, obviously new to Tatooine. She was standing back towards the main steps of the cantina, apparently uncertain how to react.
"You might want to stand over here," Daramin cautioned with a grin, indicating a place away from the steps. Even as he said this, a thug dropped near the steps, unconcious. They both lept back, suprised, and Daramin's foot caught the wall. He didn't fall hard.
"Come on, Daramin," Neevo called, offering a hand. Daramin graciously accepted the help and handed the dancer a few credits.

"Keep up the good work," he said with a smile. The two men headed for the steps as Jarus joined them. Tralmek was muttering apologies as credits clinked onto the bar. Despite they payment, Wuher still looked grumpy. Then again, Daramin thought, when was he not?
Jarus and Neevo tensed, and Daramin instanly became alert. Then he relaxed almost as quickly as recognized Jorik, his fellow gunner on the Booster Blue.
"Looks like I missed the party..." Jorik smiled. He knew Jarus too well and recognized his handywork.

"You're late," Sarn muttered.

"Sorry, I got delayed leaving Dantooine." Jorik explained. Daramin nodded at his crewmate. Jorik seemed a lot better at avoiding trouble than Jarus, even though he traveled more.

"Last time I follow your 'tips." Jarus mused as he walked out the door, followed by the other four crew members. The suns were beating down hard as the crew headed for some shade on their way back to the spaceport.
Daramin fell a few steps behind the rest, walking near Tralmek, who seemed annoyed at Sarn.

"You were right Daramin, he does always manage to find it." he commented. Daramin smiled in agreement.

"Hm, think he will ever stop?" Daramin asked playfully. Tralmek smiled back and gave no response. "Tral, I haven't really seen you since Coronet," Daramin continued, as the group rounded the coner to the starport.

"Hi Daramin," someone called.

"Good day, miss," Daramin called back, smiling at the Twi'leki as she passed.

"I've been busy," replied Tralmek. Daramin looked thoughtful at this response. Tralmek seemed on edge, more so than usual at least.

"Business as usual?"

"More or less." Another cautious answer. Daramin decided that the conversation could wait. Maybe it was Tatooine that made his friend so nervous. Or all the humans in the city, one or the other.

"Jarus Sarn?" came a somewhat frantic voice from behind. All the men turned and Jarus sauntered to the front, his typical smirk on his face.

"Depends on who's asking"

Daramin noted Neevo and Jorik both subtly adjust, ready to reach for their guns. This didn't make their visitor feel any more at ease.

"I'm sorry I couldn't meet you in the cantina, but Valarian's thugs were there."

"Yeah, we met them."

"Briefly" Daramin chimed in.

"Look, can we go some where and talk about 'business'"

"Sure, I'm all about business." Jarus took lead again, and the group made their way to the docking bay. "Wait here," Jarus ordered Neevo and Jorik.
Daramin and Tralmek kept going with Jarus and the newcomer, until they came near the ramp of the ship. Droids buzzed around them, going about various taks.

"Alright, what can we do for you?" Jarus asked, with a touch of impatience in his voice.

OCC: Hmm, what's going to happen next?

 

Name: Tyrron Nex
Occupation: Gambler, "information broker", Business man
Weapons: Wit, guile and a little luck.
Home planet: Corellia
Species: Human
Gender: Male

-Mos Eisely Cantina A few moments earlier-

A young man sits at a table in the bar. Across from him is an Aqualish. The two are playing Sabbac. Tyrron Nex holds a winning hand but suspects his opponent has better. The two have been playing for hours now, and Tyrron has lost nearly everything he has. A typical day for a gambler.

"All right, what have you got to bet?" Tyrron says. The Aqualish responds by putting a deed for a swoop on the table. "I've already got one pal. Give me something interesting."

"You're pretty confident considering I've already won your ship and your house." the aqualish says.

"Hey, you've only got my ship. That last hand was a draw my friend, my house is still mine."

"There are no draws in sabbac! I won that hand. Your house is now my house." the aqualish bellowed.

"You've obviously never played Corellian rules before. Those rules state that if two hands of equal value are shown, each player takes what they put in."

"Then you should give me back 200 credits. You took that from me on one of your 'draws'."

"Let me finish. I held the high card in that round. The holder of the high card gets the ante". Tyrron smiled behind his hand. This Aqualish wasn't too sharp.

"Let's just finish this hand" the Aqualish grumbled.

"That's what I like to hear. What've you got?"

The two players showed their hands. "I win!" shouted the Aqualish.

"No no no. Look at this. Your hand is made using wild cards. So, you lose." Tyrron was again lying through his teeth.

"That's ridiculous. My hand is better than yours. I win, not you."

"Once again you forget Corellian rules. No wild cards. I win."

"One more hand."

Tyrron smiled and sipped his Jawa beer. Suddenly the sounds of a fight burst out from across the cantina. Among the bodies was one that looked familiar...