Post by Darth Niamh on Aug 23, 2016 9:48:18 GMT
Temmari quickly located her attacker. Flapping around the cockpit like a spastic Hawk-Bat, the BoIT's tailring clawed at the paneling, trying to pry part of the metal loose.
"I said Twi'lek, not mynock, you foolish-" the Trandoshan hissed as he charged into the cockpit after his pet. He broke off mid-sentence, observing it curiously as it pulled at the corner.
As Kas strolled through the halls of his ship, he couldn't help but feel something was distinctly off. Perhaps it was the way the lights seemed to flicker, or the way the echoes of his footsteps bounced off the walls, as if there were two sets of footsteps. Whatever the cause, the Directer of Union Intelligence rapidly found himself having a sudden, unaccountable, and rather sinister bad feeling about this. While superstition was often scoffed at by experienced spacers, even the most dismissive spacer knew to trust his instincts if he had any sense, and Kas was wiser still; he'd worked with Sith, trafficking among them almost as an equal at times, and he'd learned by now that for all the mystical bantha-kriff they spouted, and as repetitive as the "something, something, something, Dark Side... something, something, something, complete!" routine got, strange senses of foreboding, inexplicable feelings of dread, and odd notions of something that would very much like to make you extremely dead creeping up behind you were never good signs.
The echo fell out of sync with his own footsteps, speeding up ever so slightly, and his hair stood up on the back of his neck as it closed in rapidly.
A momentary jolt in the Force was all the warning Strigus had.
Fortunately, with his past, it was all the warning he needed, as he instinctively leaned to the side, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt from behind. The pirate Strigus had been playing with stood, flipping the heavy table up to narrowly intercept the bolt before it hit him, splinters flying off of the table like shrapnel. "We've got trouble!" he shouted.
The Quarren woman's latest story was cut short by a gasp. Blood spurted from her chest, splattering across Insby's face as a blade pierced her torso. Her tentacles writhed and spasmed, and behind her, Insby could just make out a slight distortion in the air, roughly humanoid in size and shape.
"I said Twi'lek, not mynock, you foolish-" the Trandoshan hissed as he charged into the cockpit after his pet. He broke off mid-sentence, observing it curiously as it pulled at the corner.
As Kas strolled through the halls of his ship, he couldn't help but feel something was distinctly off. Perhaps it was the way the lights seemed to flicker, or the way the echoes of his footsteps bounced off the walls, as if there were two sets of footsteps. Whatever the cause, the Directer of Union Intelligence rapidly found himself having a sudden, unaccountable, and rather sinister bad feeling about this. While superstition was often scoffed at by experienced spacers, even the most dismissive spacer knew to trust his instincts if he had any sense, and Kas was wiser still; he'd worked with Sith, trafficking among them almost as an equal at times, and he'd learned by now that for all the mystical bantha-kriff they spouted, and as repetitive as the "something, something, something, Dark Side... something, something, something, complete!" routine got, strange senses of foreboding, inexplicable feelings of dread, and odd notions of something that would very much like to make you extremely dead creeping up behind you were never good signs.
The echo fell out of sync with his own footsteps, speeding up ever so slightly, and his hair stood up on the back of his neck as it closed in rapidly.
A momentary jolt in the Force was all the warning Strigus had.
Fortunately, with his past, it was all the warning he needed, as he instinctively leaned to the side, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt from behind. The pirate Strigus had been playing with stood, flipping the heavy table up to narrowly intercept the bolt before it hit him, splinters flying off of the table like shrapnel. "We've got trouble!" he shouted.
The Quarren woman's latest story was cut short by a gasp. Blood spurted from her chest, splattering across Insby's face as a blade pierced her torso. Her tentacles writhed and spasmed, and behind her, Insby could just make out a slight distortion in the air, roughly humanoid in size and shape.