Timbal, Thran, And Lucien
This will be the run-on for Timbal, Thran, and Lucien for the Dark Tides competition. All others will bow before our greatness.
Outfitter’s Bazaar, East River Heights, Bakura.
With much childish carping from Timbal and Lucien, Phoenix had approved the group of seasoned Equites for a recreational leave. The Emperor was uneasy about letting two of his strongest allies go on a chaperone-less adventure with the reckless and treacherous Thran Occasus, but he knew that his boys needed a break from all the merciless battles. Occasus was known to tailor expensive “hunting” expeditions in the Outer-Rim to socialites and those with money to blow. These trips usually consisted of chasing and massacring the cutest, furriest, and most lovable creatures with unnecessary firepower. This time, the target was the Forest Moon of Endor. The game; Ewoks.
Many people considered the Ewok race to be a stupid and cuddly race of beings. This was wrong, Ewoks were vicious and cunning. One Ewok was an easy target, but many could cause trouble. Just ask the Imperial Army.
Timbal, HAD Quaestor, had been browsing the latest of hunting gears. One particularly beautiful Twi’lek had brought him to a small kiosk, full of the latest array of Blasters. Lucien couldn’t tell which enamored the Krath more, the firepower or the Twi’lek saleswoman. Within a matter of minutes, the woman had Timbal purchasing her entire arsenal.
Out of the hordes of people shopping in the local agora, Thran emerged with an entourage of Sherpas. The tanned and haggard men lugged literal tons of weaponry, foodstuffs, and hunting necessities (loads of liquor). Whistling across the open market to the waiting Proconsul and Quaestor, Thran waved his arms to the men. Like a giddy schoolboy paying for a bar of chocolate, Timbal fumbled his money. Completing the transaction, he scooped up the bundle of weapons and rushed to meet the guides. Lucien followed close behind, just as eager to get to the hunt.
Standing infront of his compatriots, Thran went over the ground rules.
“Ok boys, we’ve got a 90 hour hunt, at least. Just a few rules…Umm…Ewoks are technically a sentient species, so…before you shoot, you’ve gotta say ‘It’s comin right for us!’ Just precautionary things here, nothing big…you know…typical stuff. Right. Most Ewoks at the end wins…Just sign these forms and we can be on our way.” Occasus said, passing over the legal paperwork (obviously intended to sign away any responsibility for what occurs on the trek).
Timbal signed in a frenzy, leaving a barely legible mark on the contract. Lucien signed as well, taking time to read some of the finer points.
“Good good, off we go then. Oh, Tim, Lucy…These are the sherpas. Sherpas, say hello.” The Quaestor said, motioning to the group of weighed down mountainmen.
They all replied in a foreign tongue.
“I hate these kinda introductions.” Thran remarked.
Several minutes later, the men were comfortably seated in a local starshuttle, which often made runs to Endor.
Lucien sat up in the back seat, he began singing. “99 bottles of Scotch on the wall, 99 bottles of scotch! Take one down, pass it around…” The Proconsul said, uncorking a bottle of hard spirits.
“98 Bottles of Scotch!!!” the others sang in unison.
Off they went, on possibly the greatest hunt ever.
Timbal, Thran, and Lucien were quite toasty, which is comparing their state of inebriation to a thermonuclear holocaust. Still, the senior members of Scholae Palatinae were all still semi-lucid, enjoying the hell out of the ride. Thran had first mounted the back of a chair and was riding it like some sort of dewbackboy, but later he found it to be even more amusing when he replaced the chair with one of the attractive flight attendants. Timbal was busy discussing the finer points of hyperspace navigation with what he thought was the droid pilot, but in reality he was talking to the fire alarm monitor. Lucien, needing this vacation more than most, was taking it all in stride and catching up on his reading.
“Heeeey. Heeeeeeey… Lucy?” Thran asked, his immediate task with the flight attendant complete.
“Wha? Whaddaya wan’?” Lucien replied, putting down his reading material. It was fascinating reading, as he had no idea Corellian Ale could be made at other systems other than Corellia. Or so said the label, anyway.
“I thin’ we’re comi’ up on ‘dor,” he breathed, the simple act of exhaling pushing up the alcoholic content of the air immediately surrounding him by a few percentage points.
Lucien frowned, not quite getting it. “Dor?” he asked. “No, no Kel-Dor’s here.”
Thran managed to give him a piercing gaze. “No! Ennnnndor!”
That had to bounce around a bit before he got it. “Oh! I guess we shou’ ge’ ‘dee then.”
Thran helped the flight attendant rearrange her skirt. “Ready!” he pronounced proudly.
Lucien tossed him a vague thumbs-up, and looked forward. Timbal’s intricate conversation about hyperspace navigation apparently had evolved into a full-blown argument about something or the other. Lucien decided that tossing a travel-sized bottle of vodka of only a liter would catch his attention, and he was right.
“We’re heeeeerrrrreee!” Lucien smiled at the Epis.
“’Bout damn time!” Timbal answered, giving the fire alarm monitor one final warning glare. He got his valuables another glance, ensuring that they were all ready and waiting for use and/or consumption. At the sight of one of them, he broke into his customary easy-going smiles and announced, “We shoo cel’brate!” He brandished a bottle, and a weak round of enthusiasm by the other two Scholae members was all the motivation that he needed to share the gin.
After pouring the drinks and eventually filling the shot glasses, Timbal asked off-handedly, “So, I ‘pose joo won’ get more ‘woks than me?”
Thran, such an announcement not slowing his alcohol consumption one bit, merely had a sparkle in his eye. Finishing up his shot, he held it out for more and merely said, “Wanna bet?”
Lucien smirked, “Joo loooosers cannnnot defeat meee!” he said rather forcefully.
Timbal grinned, “I bet Asani!”
The other cackled, and Thran bid, “I bet Arch!” That stopped them, and he clarified, “Wha? He gonna look goooood in a skirt!”
The other agreed somewhat reluctantly, and Lucien said, “I bid Impie AND Ludy!”
The others oooohed.
The stakes were set. Time to get out and play.
The stakes set, the trio wobbled off the transport and into the forest moon of Endor. Here was kept the largest population of Ewoks in the galaxy, and no better place to do some unauthorized poaching. The Grand Marshal stumbled as his feet hit terra firma, his balance and equilibrium out of sorts. His hunting competitors laughed at him so hard that they fell to the ground in a fit of irony.
Brandishing his Sapphire Blade, Lucien yelled out. “Who pushed me? I’ll fracking murderize you till you die from it!” Realizing that there was no one within arms length of him, the Proconsul smiled coyly and resheathed the blade. Looking at the two Quaestors on the ground, he laughed heartily. “Joo idiots get up. We gots fightin to do!”
The Grand Marshal set out into the forest, taking a sideways approach. He carried with him his usual fare of weaponry in addition to the cortosis net he had concocted back on Judecca. It would serve nicely for capturing a small group of Ewoks, provided Lucien could manage to deploy it without snaring himself in the process. The human was starting to regret letting the Quaestors goad him into drinking heavily before the hunt, his mind cloudy and full of cobwebs.
As he trudged out into the trees, he could hear the screams behind him. Peering back and squinting his eyes, he could barely make out that Thran had stepped on Timbal’s royal twins as he made his way towards the bounty that lay within the forest. Laughing with all his might, Lucien turned his attention back to the path in front of him only to come face to face with a tree.
After picking himself up off the ground, the Proconsul rubbed his forehead angrily. He should have known better than that. Just as he was cursing himself, he heard familiar squeaks coming from behind a large grove of overgrown trees. Attempting to gather his wits quickly, Lucien set out to flank the group of small furries before they became aware of his presence.
For a drunkard, it was one hell of a plan. Alas, where there is one drunkard, there are likely to be more. Catapulting his limber body over the thick rotting remains of the once mighty coniferous tree, Thran shrieked like a banshee.
“IT’S COMIN’ RIGHT FER ME!” the Cainan Surface Marshal exclaimed, letting off two blaster shots.
The man couldn’t hit the broad side of a Star Destroyer with a blaster. If he were sober he wouldn’t touch the primitive weapons, he was above them. However, as any addict will tell you, enough of your fix will make you do just about anything. He put it behind him, for the sake of the hunt. By some feat of intoxicated luck, the flaring bolt struck the mottled fur of their first catch. The plush brown creature let out its shrill swan’s song, falling to a smoldering pile.
Four or Five of the small woodland creatures cried out. “Nieub Nieub!” These were the only audible noises they made, the rest was a combinations of whimpers and yelps. They were ripe with fear, and ripe with what smelled like fermented urea. They looked adorable in holofilms, but those films didn’t share the pungent and eye-wateringly odious stench that surrounded the vile little creatures. Timbal pounced on the opportunity, bagging one of the fleeing furballs.
“It’s prostate-ing ‘imself! Its comin right at me!” the Krath exclaimed, chasing the Ewok into a tuft of ferns.
Timbal laid out like a Grav-ball player going for the tackle. And what a tackle it was. The crunch of the small mammalian bones sent a grotesque sound echoing through the forests of the famed Moon, disrupting the local birds.
Three Ewoks remained, fleeing into the shelter of the dense underbrush. Lucien rushed off after the fleeing hunting party. Hurdling logs and vaulting abscesses in the forest floor, the Proconsul quickly targeted his first mark. His blaster rose to his shoulder, pegging the tufted critter square in the back.
Dismounting the limp body of the second kill, Timbal scolded the Proconsul from a distance. “Joo are susposed to say ‘Tits Coming at us!”
As the two remaining vermin fled into the overwhelming underbrush, Lucien and Thran keeled over with uncontrollable laughter.
“YOU SAID TITS!!!” Thran said, laughing like an adolescent boy at a naughty insinuation.
This trip was going to be a blast…If they could remember what happened…
Timbal sneered, but then remembered that the best bet to make people forget about how silly you are is to brandish alcohol in front of them, especially if the other people are alcoholics themselves.
Timbal moved to his side and pulled out the clear decanter, and brandished the vodka. “Look! I brandish!”
By some sheer coincidence, the tree canopy parted just enough to let a tiny ray of sunlight spear through, and even more amazingly enough the ray illuminated the decanter, highlighting it beautifully.
The sight of the precious liquid made the other two drool somewhat, and then those looks turned envious and dismayed as Timbal opened the decanter and was sloshing the entire thing into his mouth with a complete disregard for the fact that it was also sloshing down his shirt and coming to a tragic waste on the forest ground.
Finishing off the decanter with a highly satisfied, “AH!” the Epis wiped his face with his sleeve, and stalked out of sight, humming a little song to himself.
The other two shrug off the horrifying vision, and Thran went one way while Lucien went the other way. Unfortunately, their ways merely were flanking paths to the way that Timbal went, so in reality they were all searching the same general area for Ewoks.
Timbal was getting tired. It had seemed like forever since he had that entire decanter, and when he looked at his chrono, he was right! It was an entire five minutes since the drink! Holy hell, this needed to start going faster if they were going to make it back to the transport in time for more food and drink.
His stomach, at the thought of food, decided that it was going to add its’ own endorsement of the thought, and shifted about to make more room. This, of course, allowed it to release some of the built up pressure, and Timbal burped quite loudly. In fact, it almost sounded like something a Wookie would say, if they were angry.
The sudden loud sound startled an Ewok nearby. It was apparently gathering berries or twigs or something, and it started to run. Timbal howled with excitement, yelled, "Someting someting us!" and started shooting in its’ general direction. One blaster bolt hit the basket of berries, the heat of the bolt causing them to expand and explode, their pulp flying everywhere. Some of it hit the fleeing Ewok in the face, causing it to not see where it was going and allowing it to get tripped up and fall.
Timbal took the moment to pounce, and the idea sounded so good to him that he even said it aloud, “I am taking the moment to pounce!”
A quick jab of the lightsabre, activating it, then immediately deactivating it was all it took to kill this Ewok. Now time to follow the vector it was taking to flee....