Roona stated what everyone else was likely thinking: "Moxo’s ‘live targets’ not any sentients," she whispered. "Probably our missing friends." The implication hung like the swamp’s miasma. The crew of the Vagrant, the ship itself still, hopefully, waiting in berth on gantry AB14 of Trellik Hive on Geonosis, had gathered to discuss their options. After some consideration, the consensus was that they go on the hunt and do their best to rescue everyone as part of the hunting party. Some of the crew slept better than others.
The next morning, the crew gathered in the lodge for breakfast. The dining hall smelled of roasted swamp fowl and something distinctly Rodian—sharp, fermented, and vaguely metallic. Plates clattered as servers moved between tables, their footsteps muffled by the thick reed mats covering the stone floor. The air was thick with the hum of conversation, but the usual loud boasting of the Rodians was conspicuously absent. Neither Moxo nor Renn were present, their usual seats empty. Goova Oonta was nowhere to be seen either, likely sleeping off the previous night's revelry. Her absence left a palpable void, the lodge’s energy subdued without her boisterous presence.
Xander noticed that Plateena, Moxo's sister, was there with a group of her own Rodian assistants—lean, silent hunters who moved with the precision of those ready to attack. They clustered at a corner table, picking at their food with disciplined restraint. Plateena herself sat with her back straight, her emerald-green fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of what smelled like herbal tea. Her dark eyes flicked up as Xander approached, assessing him with the same detached scrutiny she might afford a particularly interesting specimen.
"Morning," Xander said, sliding onto the bench opposite her. He kept his tone casual, but his fingers tapped restlessly against the table. Plateena's assistants shifted subtly—not hostile, but watchful. "Sleep well?"
Plateena blew steam from her tea.. "No dreams," she said—a Rodian idiom implying restlessness. Her black eyes flicked to the empty seats where Moxo's faction usually sat. "Unlike some."
Xander leaned forward. "Must be hard," he ventured, "when family... prioritizes different traditions." His fingers traced the rim of his cup. "Especially if those traditions involve"—he hesitated—"unusual prey."
Plateena's tilted her head as she sipped her tea. "Not all hunts are honorable," she said, her voice as smooth as the obsidian shards lining the theater pit. "Especially the ones my brother prefers." One of her assistants snorted—a sound like a blaster bolt hitting wet mud.
Xander drummed his fingers. "Right. So if someone were to... say... organize a hunt with particularly *unusual* targets—"
Plateena blinked at him. "All hunts are unusual here," she said flatly. "That is why outsiders pay."
FL-AR3's hydraulic joints hissed as the droid stepped forward, his photoreceptors flickering to a muted amber. "Query: Would it be an honor a hunter for one who felled sentient prey?" The question hung in the air like blaster smoke— direct, sudden. Plateena's assistants stiffened, their grip tightening on utensils.
The Rodian woman studied FL-AR3 with the clinical detachment of a biologist dissecting a specimen. "If done properly," she said after a beat. "We are hunters before we are anything else. It is certainly honorable to take worthy prey." Her black eyes gleamed under the bright dining hall lights. "Sentients can be worthy."
Xander exchanged a glance with FL-AR3 before retreating to their table, where Pron was picking at his swamp fowl with undisguised disgust. Plateena watched them go, her brow ridges twitching—whether amused or irritated, it was impossible to tell.
"Cool taking the direct approach," Spanner muttered sarcastically and elbowing Xander sharply. The human teen jerked his chin toward the dormitory wing. "Your grieving widow's still missing. Might want to check on her before *someone else* does." His grin was all teeth.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed once. "Hypothesis: Spanner implies Loren Goll may seek solace through physical intimacy with another party member." The droid tilted its head toward Xander. "Observation: You possess highest compatibility metrics based on prior—"
"Shut it," Xander hissed, flicking a chunk of swamp fowl at FL-AR3's cranial casing. The meat slid off with a wet plop. Across the dining hall, Plateena's black eyes tracked the exchange, her tea cup frozen halfway to her lips. The Rodian woman's brow ridges twitched—not quite confusion, but close.
Breakfast ended with the metallic clatter of utensils being stacked. The lodge's attendants moved like shadows between tables, clearing plates with silent efficiency. Soon after, the team—along with a handful of other hunters—were herded back toward the landing docks. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and engine grease, the distant hum of repulsorlifts cutting through the swamp's oppressive humidity.
Xander lingered near the weapons locker where a grizzled Rodian hawked extra munitions. The hunter's black eyes gleamed as Xander inspected a pair of frag grenades, their casings scratched from previous owners. "Fresh from the Core," the Rodian lied smoothly, tapping one with a suction-tipped finger. "Guaranteed to make *big* noise." Xander snorted but handed over the credits anyway, slipping the grenades into his belt with practiced ease.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered toward the munitions display. The droid's hydraulic hand hovered over the wepaon cach. He selected a single frag grenade, its weight negligible in his durasteel grip. "Clarification: Optimal for precision disruption," he intoned, tucking it into a chest compartment that hissed shut. The Rodian vendor blinked, then shrugged, already turning to the next potential customer.
Skiff assignments made, Koraz shouldered past a gaggle of Rodian hunters. He boarded the first skiff where Pron and Spanner were already seated. Tes'serak loomed over the group, his dorsal spines scraping the overhead canopy. The Trandoshan's yellowed claws tapped impatiently against his rifle stock. "Hurry," he growled at the nearest Rodian driver, who flinched but didn't relinquish the controls.
Xander's fingers tightened around his newly acquired grenades as he stepped onto the second skiff. FL-AR3's photoreceptors flicked between the Rodian drivers—three this time —and Renn, who was busy inspecting his blaster's charge pack. Moxo lounged near the stern, his emerald-green fingers drumming against his thigh holster. The Rodian's black eyes gleamed as they passed over Roona's compact frame. "Scout stays close," he said in heavily accented Basic. "Swamp eats little ones first."
The engines whined to life, their vibrations thrumming through the deck plates. Koraz's skiff surged ahead, its floodlights cutting through the early afternoon mist like a vibroblade through flesh. Tes'serak's laughter carried back to them—a guttural, clicking sound. Roona gave a look over to the Sullustan pilot, still wondering what she did that made him so belligerent toward her.
Predators & Prey (Episode 21)
Moderator: GM Fang
Re: Predators & Prey (Episode 21)
Koraz leaned in close to the Trandoshan, his voice barely audible over the skiff's engine. "Keep your claws steady, my friend. If we stumble on 'our' people in this kriffing swamp, I'll signal." His thumb tapped his blaster's grip twice—their agreed code. Tes'serak's slit pupils dilated, then narrowed. "Your soft-skins will stink of fear and sweat," he rumbled. "Easy to miss." But his claw adjusted the rifle's safety with deliberate precision. The Iktochi exhaled through his nose. It was the closest he'd get to a promise.
The skiffs carved through the murky water with predatory silence, their engines throttled low to avoid spooking whatever quarry lurked in the tangled mangroves. Koraz noted the unnatural stillness—no distant screeches of nexu, no telltale splashes of karstag herds fleeing their approach. The Rodian guides navigated with deliberate detours, their suction-tipped fingers twitching at the controls whenever they caught the glint of armored scales or tufted tails in the undergrowth.
The skiffs shuddered to a halt in water so shallow their repulsors kicked up mud instead of swamp mist. Koraz was first off, boots sinking into the muck with a wet squelch. The water here wasn’t black—just a sickly, translucent brown, swirling around his calves like diluted caf. He could see his own distorted reflection staring back, warped by the ripples FL-AR3 made as the droid waded in behind him.
The swamp exhaled as they stepped in—warm, stagnant water swirling around Pron's boots like a living thing. It wasn't deep enough to conceal predators, but deep enough to hide the jagged roots that snagged at their ankles with every step. The Rodian guides remained perched on the skiffs, their black eyes unreadable, blaster rifles resting across their laps in a way that wasn't quite casual. One twitched his snout toward the dense thicket ahead—an unspoken hurry up.
Roona peeled off her cloak with a quiet hiss, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly to her scaled shoulders before she flung it onto the skiff’s bench. Her boots came next—hand-stitched Nerf leather from Corellia, the insoles still molded to her from three years of wear. "Ruined enough gear in swamps," she muttered, peeling away the waterproof lining with fastidious care. Pron's eyebrow ridges twitched upward as she tucked the boots beneath her discarded cloak.
The first skiff's group peeled left into an area where the mangroves grew so thick they formed a latticework ceiling overhead. Koraz crouched, running fingers over a fresh scrape on a trunk. Pron's broad ears twitched at the distant sound.
Tes'serak froze mid-step, his dorsal spines flaring as his nostrils flared wide. The Trandoshan's clawed fingers tightened around his rifle stock—not in preparation to fire, but in predatory recognition. Koraz followed the hunter's gaze through the tangled vines ahead, where a flash of emerald-green skin flickered between the mangroves. A Mirialan man moved with the desperate grace of prey, his feet silent against the gnarled roots despite his panicked pace. His dark robes—once fine, now shredded—flapped like broken wings as he darted left, then right, as if the jungle itself were herding him.
The swamp grass hissed against Xander's thighs as he waded right, the stagnant water swirling around his legs like a lazy predator. FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed once—a silent acknowledgment—before the droid pivoted to cover their flank, his durasteel fingers resting lightly on his blaster rifle. Xander flicked two fingers downward in a sharp motion Roona knew well: hostile, eliminate. The Rodian scout's mouth tightened as she parsed the signal, her black eyes darting to Renn's back. The Corellian pilot was humming some Imperial march, his boots kicking up lazy ripples as he adjusted his blaster's scope with the casual arrogance of a man who thought himself among allies.
Renn's humming cut off mid-note as the bolt punched through his spine with surgical precision, the searing impact vaporizing vertebrae before exploding outward through his sternum in a spray of carbonized flesh and molten cartilage. His blaster slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, sinking into the swamp with a muted *plop* as he toppled face-first into the murk. The water bubbled violently where his chest cavity hit—steam rising from the cauterized wound—before settling into lazy pink swirls.
Moxo's snout wrinkled in disbelief as Renn's body hit the water—one second humming, the next a steaming hole where his spine used to be. Xander looked just as surprised. Maybe that wasn't what his signal was supposed to mean, after all. Then all hell broke loose.
Moxo's scream was half-rage, half-disbelief—the sound a sentient makes when betrayal sinks its teeth in deeper than any predator's fangs. His emerald fingers fumbled for his blaster just as Xander's frag grenade detonated in a concussive whump. The shockwave lifted Moxo clean off his feet, his armored chest plate spiderwebbing with fractures before he crashed through a curtain of hanging vines. One Rodian hunter spun toward the blast, her blaster coming up—right into the path of FL-AR3's precision shot. The first bolt slammed into her shoulder while the second took her through the left eye socket, the exit wound vaporizing the back of her skull in a puff of charred flesh and bone fragments.
The swamp erupted in a cacophony of blasterfire and guttural Rodian curses. Moxo scrambled up from the vines, his emerald chestplate spiderwebbed with cracks—one hand clutching a scorched dent where Xander's grenade had nearly caved in his ribs. His remaining hunters whirled toward the ambush, their blasters spitting crimson bolts that sizzled through the humid air. One bolt grazed Roona's thigh—she hissed through clenched teeth as the smell of charred scales hit her —while another slammed into FL-AR3's shoulder plating, sending a ricochet splattering into the muck.
More blaster bolts carved smoking furrows through the swamp grass just as the carnivorous plant struck—its coiled vines lashing out like organic whips. The Rodian hunter shrieked as the tendrils wrapped around his torso, yanking him off-balance into the muck. His blaster fired wildly, bolts stitching crimson lines across the canopy before the plant's maw—a gaping, gelatinous pit lined with needle-teeth—engulfed his head. His muffled screams dissolved into wet gurgles as the vines contracted, dragging him deeper into the digestive slurry.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered to a sharp crimson as Moxo staggered upright—just in time for Roona's blaster bolt to punch through his already fractured chestplate. The Rodian's emerald skin blackened instantly around the wound, his snout twisting in a silent scream as he clawed at the smoldering hole. The droid didn't give him time to collapse. Its next shot took Moxo through the throat, severing his vocal cords mid-curse. The Imperial-aligned hunter crumpled face-first into the swamp, his body sending up a plume of brackish water that rained down in slow, dirty droplets, half submerged on a fallen log.
The skiffs carved through the murky water with predatory silence, their engines throttled low to avoid spooking whatever quarry lurked in the tangled mangroves. Koraz noted the unnatural stillness—no distant screeches of nexu, no telltale splashes of karstag herds fleeing their approach. The Rodian guides navigated with deliberate detours, their suction-tipped fingers twitching at the controls whenever they caught the glint of armored scales or tufted tails in the undergrowth.
The skiffs shuddered to a halt in water so shallow their repulsors kicked up mud instead of swamp mist. Koraz was first off, boots sinking into the muck with a wet squelch. The water here wasn’t black—just a sickly, translucent brown, swirling around his calves like diluted caf. He could see his own distorted reflection staring back, warped by the ripples FL-AR3 made as the droid waded in behind him.
The swamp exhaled as they stepped in—warm, stagnant water swirling around Pron's boots like a living thing. It wasn't deep enough to conceal predators, but deep enough to hide the jagged roots that snagged at their ankles with every step. The Rodian guides remained perched on the skiffs, their black eyes unreadable, blaster rifles resting across their laps in a way that wasn't quite casual. One twitched his snout toward the dense thicket ahead—an unspoken hurry up.
Roona peeled off her cloak with a quiet hiss, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly to her scaled shoulders before she flung it onto the skiff’s bench. Her boots came next—hand-stitched Nerf leather from Corellia, the insoles still molded to her from three years of wear. "Ruined enough gear in swamps," she muttered, peeling away the waterproof lining with fastidious care. Pron's eyebrow ridges twitched upward as she tucked the boots beneath her discarded cloak.
The first skiff's group peeled left into an area where the mangroves grew so thick they formed a latticework ceiling overhead. Koraz crouched, running fingers over a fresh scrape on a trunk. Pron's broad ears twitched at the distant sound.
Tes'serak froze mid-step, his dorsal spines flaring as his nostrils flared wide. The Trandoshan's clawed fingers tightened around his rifle stock—not in preparation to fire, but in predatory recognition. Koraz followed the hunter's gaze through the tangled vines ahead, where a flash of emerald-green skin flickered between the mangroves. A Mirialan man moved with the desperate grace of prey, his feet silent against the gnarled roots despite his panicked pace. His dark robes—once fine, now shredded—flapped like broken wings as he darted left, then right, as if the jungle itself were herding him.
The swamp grass hissed against Xander's thighs as he waded right, the stagnant water swirling around his legs like a lazy predator. FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed once—a silent acknowledgment—before the droid pivoted to cover their flank, his durasteel fingers resting lightly on his blaster rifle. Xander flicked two fingers downward in a sharp motion Roona knew well: hostile, eliminate. The Rodian scout's mouth tightened as she parsed the signal, her black eyes darting to Renn's back. The Corellian pilot was humming some Imperial march, his boots kicking up lazy ripples as he adjusted his blaster's scope with the casual arrogance of a man who thought himself among allies.
Renn's humming cut off mid-note as the bolt punched through his spine with surgical precision, the searing impact vaporizing vertebrae before exploding outward through his sternum in a spray of carbonized flesh and molten cartilage. His blaster slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, sinking into the swamp with a muted *plop* as he toppled face-first into the murk. The water bubbled violently where his chest cavity hit—steam rising from the cauterized wound—before settling into lazy pink swirls.
Moxo's snout wrinkled in disbelief as Renn's body hit the water—one second humming, the next a steaming hole where his spine used to be. Xander looked just as surprised. Maybe that wasn't what his signal was supposed to mean, after all. Then all hell broke loose.
Moxo's scream was half-rage, half-disbelief—the sound a sentient makes when betrayal sinks its teeth in deeper than any predator's fangs. His emerald fingers fumbled for his blaster just as Xander's frag grenade detonated in a concussive whump. The shockwave lifted Moxo clean off his feet, his armored chest plate spiderwebbing with fractures before he crashed through a curtain of hanging vines. One Rodian hunter spun toward the blast, her blaster coming up—right into the path of FL-AR3's precision shot. The first bolt slammed into her shoulder while the second took her through the left eye socket, the exit wound vaporizing the back of her skull in a puff of charred flesh and bone fragments.
The swamp erupted in a cacophony of blasterfire and guttural Rodian curses. Moxo scrambled up from the vines, his emerald chestplate spiderwebbed with cracks—one hand clutching a scorched dent where Xander's grenade had nearly caved in his ribs. His remaining hunters whirled toward the ambush, their blasters spitting crimson bolts that sizzled through the humid air. One bolt grazed Roona's thigh—she hissed through clenched teeth as the smell of charred scales hit her —while another slammed into FL-AR3's shoulder plating, sending a ricochet splattering into the muck.
More blaster bolts carved smoking furrows through the swamp grass just as the carnivorous plant struck—its coiled vines lashing out like organic whips. The Rodian hunter shrieked as the tendrils wrapped around his torso, yanking him off-balance into the muck. His blaster fired wildly, bolts stitching crimson lines across the canopy before the plant's maw—a gaping, gelatinous pit lined with needle-teeth—engulfed his head. His muffled screams dissolved into wet gurgles as the vines contracted, dragging him deeper into the digestive slurry.
FL-AR3's photoreceptors flickered to a sharp crimson as Moxo staggered upright—just in time for Roona's blaster bolt to punch through his already fractured chestplate. The Rodian's emerald skin blackened instantly around the wound, his snout twisting in a silent scream as he clawed at the smoldering hole. The droid didn't give him time to collapse. Its next shot took Moxo through the throat, severing his vocal cords mid-curse. The Imperial-aligned hunter crumpled face-first into the swamp, his body sending up a plume of brackish water that rained down in slow, dirty droplets, half submerged on a fallen log.
Re: Predators & Prey (Episode 21)
Elsewhere, Spanner froze mid-step at the distant *crack-thump* of blasterfire echoing through the mangroves. His head whipped toward Pron—the Sullustan's broad ears were already swiveling like radar dishes, his stubby fingers tightening around his own blaster. "That's Xander's grenade," Spanner hissed, already pivoting right toward the sound. Pron grunted agreement, his boots sloshing through the muck with uncharacteristic urgency. Neither noticed Tes'serak slinking left until the Trandoshan's dorsal spines vanished into the thicker foliage. Koraz hesitated before following the hunter's trail with silent steps.
Tes'serak moved like spilled ink through the mangroves—liquid, silent, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. His claws barely parted the vines ahead; they simply *allowed* him passage, as if the swamp itself recognized a superior predator. Koraz matched his pace three steps behind, boots sinking into the muck with a squelch.
Koraz's breath hitched when he finally caught sight of Tes'serak—the Trandoshan was a shadow among shadows, his rifle stock pressed tight against scaled cheek, the barrel steady. Through the crosshairs, a human man stumbled into view, his boots slipping on the moss-slick roots. Blood streaked his temple, matting dark hair to pale skin. His breath came in ragged bursts, each exhale fogging the humid air.
Koraz's blaster didn't waver as he stepped forward. The man flinched, his breath hitching in the desperate calculation of prey that knows it's cornered. "Name," the Iktochi growled, his voice low enough that only Tes'serak caught it.
"Seng Windrunner," the man gasped, one hand clutching the bleeding gash above his eyebrow. His fingers trembled from exhaustion. The Iktochi's blaster didn't lower, but his grip loosened just enough to signal Tes'serak. The Trandoshan's rifle barrel dipped a fraction, though his slit pupils remained locked on Windrunner like a nexu sizing up wounded prey.
Koraz stepped closer, the swamp water sloshing around his knees as he lowered his blaster. "We’re here to find you," he said gruffly. "Hired by Imik Suum."
Seng Windrunner's knees buckled. His fingers dug into the moss-covered roots beneath him. "Imik sent you?" His voice cracked halfway through.
"On your feet, Windrunner," Koraz growled, holstering his blaster with a deliberate click. The Iktochi's eyes never left the man's face. "Unless you'd rather stay here and play target practice for Rodian sport hunters."
Not far away, Spanner's boots hit a submerged root with a wet thunk, nearly sending him face-first into the brackish water. Pron caught his elbow, just as the Bothan woman burst from the tangled vines ahead, her fur matted with mud and one ear torn. El'Jaameer's golden eyes locked onto Spanner's with the frantic recognition of someone seeing a ghost from civilized life. She staggered, her tattered clothing snagging on a thornbush. "You—" she panted, then doubled over coughing. "You're the Fringer kid who helped fix up my medcenter."
El'Jaameer's claws dug into Spanner's forearm hard enough to draw blood—not out of malice, but the desperate grip of someone who'd spent days expecting death. Her golden eyes flickered between Spanner's face and the Rodian escorts behind him, pupils dilated with adrenaline. "You're real," she rasped, her Bothan accent thicker than Spanner remembered from earlier meetings.
The nearest Rodian escort hissed through his snout, blaster trembling as he aimed at El'Jaameer's heaving ribs. "Inkabunga! She's quarry!" His suction-tipped finger twitched against the trigger. "Shoot her or forfeit the hunt!"
Pron's blaster cleared its holster faster than thought in a single, fluid motion. The shot punched through the Rodian escort's wrist with surgical precision, sending his blaster spinning into the swamp with a splash. The escort shrieked, clutching his smoking wrist as his black eyes bulged in betrayal. "She's our friend," Pron snarled, his jowls quivering with rage. The Sullustan's stubby finger didn't waver from the Rodian's chest. "Next bolt goes through your lungs."
Pron's blaster bolt sizzled past Spanner's ear before slamming into the Rodian's throat. The hunter crumpled mid-snarl, his emerald fingers spasming around a grenade that rolled harmlessly into the muck. Spanner didn't have time to flinch before the second Rodian's shot grazed his ribs, searing through synth-leather and flesh alike. The teenager bit down on a scream, turning the sound into a guttural curse as he returned fire.
Pron's second shot went wide as a blaster bolt tore through his thigh. He staggered but didn't fall, baring his teeth in a snarl. Spanner's return fire clipped a Rodian in the shoulder.
Spanner's vision tunneled to the Rodian staggering in front of him—emerald skin flushed muddy brown from swamp water, blaster trembling in suction-tipped hands. The teenager's next shot went wide, kicking up a plume of brackish spray as the Rodian returned fire.
Koraz's boots churned the swamp into a froth as he crashed through the undergrowth, Seng stumbling behind him with the desperate gait of a man running on fumes. The Iktochi's horns scraped against low-hanging vines, his focus locked onto the staccato rhythm of blasterfire ahead. A flicker of emerald scales between the mangroves caught his eye—a Falleen male crouched behind a rotting log, his slit pupils dilated with primal terror. Another "quarry". Koraz hesitated just long enough to jerk his chin toward a denser thicket. The Falleen vanished into the foliage without a sound.
Koraz's forehead tingled with that split-second precognitive itch that saved his hide more times than he could count. He didn't think, just bellowed, "*Spanner! Left—now!*" The teenager jerked sideways just as a blaster bolt seared the air where his head had been, scorching a blackened streak across a twisted mangrove trunk. Spanner hit the muck with a splash. Koraz didn't waste breath on another warning—his blaster was already up and firing, the recoil traveling through his arms. The first shot took the nearest Rodian through the chest.
Pron didn't take cover. His blaster sang out three times in rapid succession—each shot punctuated by a wet thump into the Rodian body who crumpled mid-charge, his emerald fingers still twitching around a vibroblade before the brackish water closed over his face.
While this battle took place, Roona's head snapped toward the trees—her auditory canals picking up what human ears couldn't: the wet squelch of boots in moss, the rasp of blaster straps against armor, the faint click of a safety being thumbed off. Too many bodies moving with forced quiet. Her dorsal scales prickled. "Run!" she hissed.
Xander hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—his fingers flexing around his blaster grip as he processed Roona's warning. FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed amber, then red, scanning the dense foliage with methodical precision. "Clarify 'many,'" the droid intoned, his vocal modulator flattening the urgency into sterile data.
Roona didn't answer with words at first. She grabbed Xander's wrist and yanked him forward. As she ran, she shouted, "Many! Boska!"
The swamp erupted in a chaotic ballet of splashing limbs as FL-AR3 finally pivoted to follow. Brackish water sluiced off his durasteel chassis as he waded after Xander and Roona. His photoreceptors flickered, scanning the mangroves behind them where shadows moved with predatory synchronicity. "Hostiles closing at 23 meters," the droid announced, his vocal modulator stripping the urgency away.
The swamp gasped as they surged forward—water churning beneath boots, vines whipping against limbs, the very air vibrating with the promise of pursuit. Roona's hand signals cut through the chaos like a blade: return to skiffs, hostiles closing, move fast. FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed once in acknowledgment before the droid's comm crackled to life, his synthesized voice slicing through the din. "Rally point Alpha. Immediate extraction." The response came in bursts—Pron's gruff acknowledgment, Koraz's terse copy.
Roona's vaulted over a submerged root, her feet barely making a splash—years of Rodian swamp-hunting techniques paying off now. Behind her, FL-AR3's servos whined softly as the droid calculated optimal escape vectors, his photoreceptors painting the mangroves in tactical overlays. The unseen hunters were closing, but not fast enough—not yet. The comm crackled, Flare's synthesized voice cutting through the humid air: "Friends, converge on skiffs. Enemy density significant."
As the reached the edge of the island, Xander's fingers closed around the grenade. The pin came free with a metallic *snick* . He didn't throw it yet. He let the Rodian guards see it first, let their black bulbous eyes track the dull gray sphere in his hand for one terrible second before his arm snapped forward. The grenade arced through the humid air in perfect silence, bouncing once before rolling neatly into the skiff's empty cockpit.
The grenade's explosion tore through the hull with a deafening crump, sending twisted shards spiraling into the swamp like shrapnel confetti. The Rodian guards froze, their black bulbous eyes tracking the wreckage with stunned horror. Roona didn't wait for comprehension to dawn; she was already moving, as she leveled her blaster at the nearest guard. "Bolla," she growled, voice rough with adrenaline.
The Rodian guards hesitated, their blasters trembling in suction-tipped hands as Roona's weapon swung between them. One made a wet, guttural sound deep in his snout—not quite surrender, not quite defiance—before slowly lowering his rifle into the brackish water. The other followed suit, his black bulbous eyes darting to the smoldering wreckage of their skiff. "Jee-jee bolla," he hissed, raising his hands palms-out in the universal gesture of reluctant retreat.
The skiff's repulsors sputtered to life with a wet cough, sending brackish water slattering against its hull as Roona vaulted into the pilot's seat and fired it up. Her suction-tipped fingers danced across the controls—a Rodian's instinctive mastery of swampcraft evident in the way she nudged the throttle just enough to avoid sucking in debris. The engine's whine climbed to a piercing shriek.
Xander barely had both boots inside before she punched the throttle, sending the craft fishtailing through a curtain of hanging vines. FL-AR3's metallic fingers screeched against the gunwale as the droid hauled itself aboard mid-skid, photoreceptors flashing crimson. "Evasive pattern advised," it intoned.
The mangroves shuddered as Koraz burst through the foliage, dragging Seng behind him like a half-drowned tooka. Spanner came next, limping, but helping the Bothan doctor along. The Sullustan's thigh was better thanks to the stimpack and he held his grip on his blaster, taking in the guards who had moved away.
The second skiff’s repulsors groaned under sudden weight as Pron hauled himself into the pilot’s seat, his stubby fingers flicking switches with the brisk efficiency of someone who’d flown worse wrecks. Behind him, Koraz shoved Seng onto the deck plating with a grunt. Spanner tumbled in next, hissing as his seared ribs scraped against the skiff’s rim. "Move, move!" the teenager barked, though his voice cracked halfway through.
Behind them, a dozen Rodian hunters erupted from the mangroves, their emerald skin streaked with mud and fury. The skiffs lurched forward as blaster bolts sizzled past, their crimson trails cutting through the humid air like vengeful fireflies.
------------------------------------------
Unused XPS
Spanner - 0
FL-AR3 - 0 (+40)
Pron - 10 (+40)
Koraz - 10
Xander - 0
Roona - 5
Vagrant Group Funds - 3373 credits (-1200 hunting lodge payment)
Archelon Group Funds - 5591 credits
Gear: quick sale value in ()
3 Geonosian Rifles hidden in cargo hold for Nyn
4 Blaster Pistols (200 ea)
Tes'serak moved like spilled ink through the mangroves—liquid, silent, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. His claws barely parted the vines ahead; they simply *allowed* him passage, as if the swamp itself recognized a superior predator. Koraz matched his pace three steps behind, boots sinking into the muck with a squelch.
Koraz's breath hitched when he finally caught sight of Tes'serak—the Trandoshan was a shadow among shadows, his rifle stock pressed tight against scaled cheek, the barrel steady. Through the crosshairs, a human man stumbled into view, his boots slipping on the moss-slick roots. Blood streaked his temple, matting dark hair to pale skin. His breath came in ragged bursts, each exhale fogging the humid air.
Koraz's blaster didn't waver as he stepped forward. The man flinched, his breath hitching in the desperate calculation of prey that knows it's cornered. "Name," the Iktochi growled, his voice low enough that only Tes'serak caught it.
"Seng Windrunner," the man gasped, one hand clutching the bleeding gash above his eyebrow. His fingers trembled from exhaustion. The Iktochi's blaster didn't lower, but his grip loosened just enough to signal Tes'serak. The Trandoshan's rifle barrel dipped a fraction, though his slit pupils remained locked on Windrunner like a nexu sizing up wounded prey.
Koraz stepped closer, the swamp water sloshing around his knees as he lowered his blaster. "We’re here to find you," he said gruffly. "Hired by Imik Suum."
Seng Windrunner's knees buckled. His fingers dug into the moss-covered roots beneath him. "Imik sent you?" His voice cracked halfway through.
"On your feet, Windrunner," Koraz growled, holstering his blaster with a deliberate click. The Iktochi's eyes never left the man's face. "Unless you'd rather stay here and play target practice for Rodian sport hunters."
Not far away, Spanner's boots hit a submerged root with a wet thunk, nearly sending him face-first into the brackish water. Pron caught his elbow, just as the Bothan woman burst from the tangled vines ahead, her fur matted with mud and one ear torn. El'Jaameer's golden eyes locked onto Spanner's with the frantic recognition of someone seeing a ghost from civilized life. She staggered, her tattered clothing snagging on a thornbush. "You—" she panted, then doubled over coughing. "You're the Fringer kid who helped fix up my medcenter."
El'Jaameer's claws dug into Spanner's forearm hard enough to draw blood—not out of malice, but the desperate grip of someone who'd spent days expecting death. Her golden eyes flickered between Spanner's face and the Rodian escorts behind him, pupils dilated with adrenaline. "You're real," she rasped, her Bothan accent thicker than Spanner remembered from earlier meetings.
The nearest Rodian escort hissed through his snout, blaster trembling as he aimed at El'Jaameer's heaving ribs. "Inkabunga! She's quarry!" His suction-tipped finger twitched against the trigger. "Shoot her or forfeit the hunt!"
Pron's blaster cleared its holster faster than thought in a single, fluid motion. The shot punched through the Rodian escort's wrist with surgical precision, sending his blaster spinning into the swamp with a splash. The escort shrieked, clutching his smoking wrist as his black eyes bulged in betrayal. "She's our friend," Pron snarled, his jowls quivering with rage. The Sullustan's stubby finger didn't waver from the Rodian's chest. "Next bolt goes through your lungs."
Pron's blaster bolt sizzled past Spanner's ear before slamming into the Rodian's throat. The hunter crumpled mid-snarl, his emerald fingers spasming around a grenade that rolled harmlessly into the muck. Spanner didn't have time to flinch before the second Rodian's shot grazed his ribs, searing through synth-leather and flesh alike. The teenager bit down on a scream, turning the sound into a guttural curse as he returned fire.
Pron's second shot went wide as a blaster bolt tore through his thigh. He staggered but didn't fall, baring his teeth in a snarl. Spanner's return fire clipped a Rodian in the shoulder.
Spanner's vision tunneled to the Rodian staggering in front of him—emerald skin flushed muddy brown from swamp water, blaster trembling in suction-tipped hands. The teenager's next shot went wide, kicking up a plume of brackish spray as the Rodian returned fire.
Koraz's boots churned the swamp into a froth as he crashed through the undergrowth, Seng stumbling behind him with the desperate gait of a man running on fumes. The Iktochi's horns scraped against low-hanging vines, his focus locked onto the staccato rhythm of blasterfire ahead. A flicker of emerald scales between the mangroves caught his eye—a Falleen male crouched behind a rotting log, his slit pupils dilated with primal terror. Another "quarry". Koraz hesitated just long enough to jerk his chin toward a denser thicket. The Falleen vanished into the foliage without a sound.
Koraz's forehead tingled with that split-second precognitive itch that saved his hide more times than he could count. He didn't think, just bellowed, "*Spanner! Left—now!*" The teenager jerked sideways just as a blaster bolt seared the air where his head had been, scorching a blackened streak across a twisted mangrove trunk. Spanner hit the muck with a splash. Koraz didn't waste breath on another warning—his blaster was already up and firing, the recoil traveling through his arms. The first shot took the nearest Rodian through the chest.
Pron didn't take cover. His blaster sang out three times in rapid succession—each shot punctuated by a wet thump into the Rodian body who crumpled mid-charge, his emerald fingers still twitching around a vibroblade before the brackish water closed over his face.
While this battle took place, Roona's head snapped toward the trees—her auditory canals picking up what human ears couldn't: the wet squelch of boots in moss, the rasp of blaster straps against armor, the faint click of a safety being thumbed off. Too many bodies moving with forced quiet. Her dorsal scales prickled. "Run!" she hissed.
Xander hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—his fingers flexing around his blaster grip as he processed Roona's warning. FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed amber, then red, scanning the dense foliage with methodical precision. "Clarify 'many,'" the droid intoned, his vocal modulator flattening the urgency into sterile data.
Roona didn't answer with words at first. She grabbed Xander's wrist and yanked him forward. As she ran, she shouted, "Many! Boska!"
The swamp erupted in a chaotic ballet of splashing limbs as FL-AR3 finally pivoted to follow. Brackish water sluiced off his durasteel chassis as he waded after Xander and Roona. His photoreceptors flickered, scanning the mangroves behind them where shadows moved with predatory synchronicity. "Hostiles closing at 23 meters," the droid announced, his vocal modulator stripping the urgency away.
The swamp gasped as they surged forward—water churning beneath boots, vines whipping against limbs, the very air vibrating with the promise of pursuit. Roona's hand signals cut through the chaos like a blade: return to skiffs, hostiles closing, move fast. FL-AR3's photoreceptors pulsed once in acknowledgment before the droid's comm crackled to life, his synthesized voice slicing through the din. "Rally point Alpha. Immediate extraction." The response came in bursts—Pron's gruff acknowledgment, Koraz's terse copy.
Roona's vaulted over a submerged root, her feet barely making a splash—years of Rodian swamp-hunting techniques paying off now. Behind her, FL-AR3's servos whined softly as the droid calculated optimal escape vectors, his photoreceptors painting the mangroves in tactical overlays. The unseen hunters were closing, but not fast enough—not yet. The comm crackled, Flare's synthesized voice cutting through the humid air: "Friends, converge on skiffs. Enemy density significant."
As the reached the edge of the island, Xander's fingers closed around the grenade. The pin came free with a metallic *snick* . He didn't throw it yet. He let the Rodian guards see it first, let their black bulbous eyes track the dull gray sphere in his hand for one terrible second before his arm snapped forward. The grenade arced through the humid air in perfect silence, bouncing once before rolling neatly into the skiff's empty cockpit.
The grenade's explosion tore through the hull with a deafening crump, sending twisted shards spiraling into the swamp like shrapnel confetti. The Rodian guards froze, their black bulbous eyes tracking the wreckage with stunned horror. Roona didn't wait for comprehension to dawn; she was already moving, as she leveled her blaster at the nearest guard. "Bolla," she growled, voice rough with adrenaline.
The Rodian guards hesitated, their blasters trembling in suction-tipped hands as Roona's weapon swung between them. One made a wet, guttural sound deep in his snout—not quite surrender, not quite defiance—before slowly lowering his rifle into the brackish water. The other followed suit, his black bulbous eyes darting to the smoldering wreckage of their skiff. "Jee-jee bolla," he hissed, raising his hands palms-out in the universal gesture of reluctant retreat.
The skiff's repulsors sputtered to life with a wet cough, sending brackish water slattering against its hull as Roona vaulted into the pilot's seat and fired it up. Her suction-tipped fingers danced across the controls—a Rodian's instinctive mastery of swampcraft evident in the way she nudged the throttle just enough to avoid sucking in debris. The engine's whine climbed to a piercing shriek.
Xander barely had both boots inside before she punched the throttle, sending the craft fishtailing through a curtain of hanging vines. FL-AR3's metallic fingers screeched against the gunwale as the droid hauled itself aboard mid-skid, photoreceptors flashing crimson. "Evasive pattern advised," it intoned.
The mangroves shuddered as Koraz burst through the foliage, dragging Seng behind him like a half-drowned tooka. Spanner came next, limping, but helping the Bothan doctor along. The Sullustan's thigh was better thanks to the stimpack and he held his grip on his blaster, taking in the guards who had moved away.
The second skiff’s repulsors groaned under sudden weight as Pron hauled himself into the pilot’s seat, his stubby fingers flicking switches with the brisk efficiency of someone who’d flown worse wrecks. Behind him, Koraz shoved Seng onto the deck plating with a grunt. Spanner tumbled in next, hissing as his seared ribs scraped against the skiff’s rim. "Move, move!" the teenager barked, though his voice cracked halfway through.
Behind them, a dozen Rodian hunters erupted from the mangroves, their emerald skin streaked with mud and fury. The skiffs lurched forward as blaster bolts sizzled past, their crimson trails cutting through the humid air like vengeful fireflies.
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Unused XPS
Spanner - 0
FL-AR3 - 0 (+40)
Pron - 10 (+40)
Koraz - 10
Xander - 0
Roona - 5
Vagrant Group Funds - 3373 credits (-1200 hunting lodge payment)
Archelon Group Funds - 5591 credits
Gear: quick sale value in ()
3 Geonosian Rifles hidden in cargo hold for Nyn
4 Blaster Pistols (200 ea)