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The Raiders' Hideaway
Posted: Sat Jun 09, 2018 3:52 pm
Far to the north, near the northern pole of Contruum, there lay a small, enclosed valley amidst a vast mountain range. Due to the orientation of Contruum to its sun – the same orientation that made most of the planet a continuous tropic year-round – the mountainous regions around the north pole spent nearly the entire year in a state of perpetual dusk, with only a few weeks of proper daylight during the summer. This would often make for a very glum settlement if anyone even desired to settle in such an area, but around the encampment that stood in this particular valley, things were usually pretty chipper. The 70 or so rugged men and women who lived there moved with a purpose and greeted each other warmly always. They were a rough and sometimes rowdy bunch, and they were also a family, forged by the fires of necessity, determination, and the incorrigible optimism of the leader who had inspired them all.
The encampment centered around two large hanger-domes, which were the only permanent structures in the whole valley. They were surrounded by a diverse scattering of prefab structures that served as housing, workshops, an armory, a triage center, and a small number of other facilities needed to support the busy community. The valley’s whole compliment of occupants were rarely there at one time, but came at went with regularity from the two hangers in an odd assortment of ships.
Overlooking the valley on a high ledge, a cluster of low prefab structures watched over the encampment. The one nearest the ledge, with the best vantage point over the valley was surrounded by torches, and they were always lit when the occupant was inside. The curtain doors at either end of the structure were usually closed, by anyone below knew they were welcome to enter at any time. Inside the structure sat a small table with three chairs beside a small counter, a cot with a small chest of old handmade wooden drawers with a sword stand on top, and a bamboo mat in the center of the floor. Outside the tent sat two chairs facing the valley, with a small table between them.
Re: The Raiders' Hideaway
Posted: Sat Jun 09, 2018 4:59 pm
Inside the prefab tent on the ledge, surrounded by little more than candlelight and the dim reflection on the bevels of his falchion, Rave sat quietly atop his feet, and meditated. He had made an effort to do so at least two or three times a week since his childhood, knowing that he could hear the Force best when his mind was calm. However, it wasn’t turmoil that made meditation difficult for the blue nautolan, it was just the overpowering desire to do; to be active, and alive. It had always been this way for him, ever since his childhood days in the temple of the Jedi and on up through his teenage years until now. Even as an adult, he had little use for meditation and quiet pondering times – but that was what made them so important to him. They were the strongest tie to between who he was, and what he was. In his heart, Rave was still very much a Jedi.
With that conscious reaffirmation came images of days past. Days immediately following the Great Disappearance, when as a young boy he’d taken the few other younglings left under his wing – even a few that were older than him – and led them away from the deserted temple. He’d heard from sources in recent years that a small number of Jedi had taken up residence there. It pleased him immensely that the fires had not been left idle in the temple, but he had his cause now, and his trust circle. His freedom fighters. Not much of his old lifestyle remained. The nagasteel falchion lying on the ground before him reminded him that in many ways he wasn’t a true Jedi, but in his heart, he had been a Knight of the Order since he was ten years old. It was only natural that others craving freedom and a chance to seize their fate with both hands had rallied to the waving flag of his leadership. And wasn’t that what a Jedi truly was? He smiled, opening his dark eyes and glancing down at the sword before him.
I am what I had always intended to be
Heavy, deliberate footsteps sounded outside the tent, approaching with the telltale crunch of hard-soled boots in the gravel. Ka’tesh wasn’t sensitive to the Force, but he seemed to have an instinct for change – and a nose for trouble. Perhaps the Force did speak to him on some level. Whatever the case, he must have perceived something of the change that Rave felt in the deep currents of the Force, because Ka’tesh never climbed the side of the valley during the day, especially by himself, unless he had something weighing on his mind. Rave got up from the floormat with a smile, placed his falchion atop the sword stand in his room, and walked out the back canvas, leaving one side open behind him. No sooner had he settled into one of the wooden chairs than he heard the other side of the canvas doorway flap to one side and the tall Zabrak emerged. Rave glanced back at his friend as he tossed his hands casually behind his head and grinned. In the lighting of the perpetual sunset, the black and white contrast of the Zabrak’s skin and tattoos would have been terrifying to a stranger. Rave had been singularly impressed by them since day one.
“Teshy, what you climbin’ up here for mahn?” His nautolan accent, if anything, had only gotten thicker with time.
The Zabrak sat down in the chair to his right with a heavy sigh and lit up a cigarette – he’d undoubtedly been rolling it by hand on the way up the mountainside.
“Dov and Turok are overdue.” He said, puffing the smoke from his nose. Rave watched the smoke roll down his friend’s massive chest, and then glanced back up at him.
“And dat’s got you worried, does it?”
Ka’tesh glanced at him curiously. “I’m not – “
“Yes you are mahn, don’ lie. You smoke dose tings when you fret.”
Ka’tesh shook his head and took another puff before taking the brown roll of paper from his mouth. “You say that a lot.”
Rave smiled hugely and poured water into a tin cup on the small stand between them. “I do, don’t I? Prove me wrong sometime. Anyway, you know how Dov is, he don’ like leavin’ a job half-finished. Is dat all dats botherin’ ya?”
Ka’tesh glanced down at the jar of water, then took another puff of his cigarette. “I think so. Anything else I should be worried about?”
Rave chuckled and slurped a little water from his cup. “I don’ know yet mahn. We’ll see soon enough I tink.”
Re: The Raiders' Hideaway
Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2019 3:23 pm
Atop the hill overlooking the hideaway, Rave stood over a basin with a contented smile on his face and rubbed a cloth on his neck beneath the many leku that hung from his head. Today had been a good day. They had retrieved a whole shipment of foodstuffs from the crimelords on Plantar, socked the same crimelords in the jaw (one of them literally, Rave's smile grew), and they had even gone so far as to get the same supplies distributed to contacts that would see the supplies into the hands that needed them most. A good day indeed.
After washing off a bit, Rave grabbed his shirt off the back of a chair and pulled it on again. The falchion on his stand received a fond caress, and then he made his way out with a pitcher of water to his overlook.
The pitcher fell from his hand and shattered.
The nautolan launched off the hillside with a single, long strided bound and descended to the camp below, landing in the midst of one of the work crews at the mechanic shop. "Call up Maise and get to da freightas! We got incomin' refugees in orbit, gotta get em down now!"
The work crew didn't question Rave as he thundered further into the camp toward the hangers. His instincts were usually on point. By the time Rave's path had carried him to the hanger, a dozen other freedom fighters were there prepping the ships he'd caled for. A middle-aged bothan came hustling into the hanger a moment later Rave! What's going on, they said you had a lead on refugees?"
"In orbit overhead mahn, dey just showed up outta nowhere!" Rave glanced up, raising his hand to the sky for a moment in concentration while Maise watched and the others rushed around finishing prepping the ships. "Bearin'... oh-seven-five by two-two-eight. Take da Maruish, I'll take da Skillet. Deir ship is comin' apart right now!"
Maise hustled onto the relatively benign nubian freighter while Rave and his crew thudered aboard a corellian freighter of roughly equal size. By the time the hanger doors were fully opened, both vessels were off the ground, and they went roketing out one after the other. The rest of the work crews hurried off to get the triage station ready for a full routine.