Author Topic: Vode None.  (Read 25086 times)

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Eparavu

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Vode None.
« on: June 16, 2010, 05:01:39 PM »
Ok I'm breaking one of my cardinal rules of writing: never write fanfic, at the behest of my vod Ky'Ram.
Nothing is ready to post yet, but I will rectify that tomorrow night.

Look forward to Vode None, the saga of a clone pilot who crashes and becomes marooned, and is forced to survive alone in an unforgiving landscape.


No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #1 on: June 16, 2010, 05:23:04 PM »
I will, ner vod...
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #2 on: June 18, 2010, 12:09:40 AM »
Man it has been a LONG night. Lot of driving.
Lot of writing done.
Here's part 1.
Kinda hard to write a star wars fanfic without wookiepedia...


   You could call it bitterness.
   That feeling you get when you see those around you having all that you want. Knowing that the only defining boundary between you two is faceless, implacable dumb luck. It does something to you, deep inside.  May make you think things you know you shouldn't.
   You could call it a lot of things, I suppose. But if I had to describe in one word how I feel, it would be bitterness. It is a satisfying word. It can fill you, and in a masochistic way, you feel whole, even if in pain.
   It's an entire week after the battle of Geonosis. My name is Barrel. I am a pilot, and I am a bitter, lonely clone.    
   I remember others just like me, during what we ironically call our childhood. In rows beside me, being force fed all we would need to know to be useful little products. Or worse, in the morbid transparisteel tanks where we are grown like human crops. It makes me sick. I recognize a few of them now, in the subtle mannerisms, facial expressions, subtle signs that they are used to sitting in a cockpit. All the same, I don't know them. We lived our short adolescence being impersonally crammed full of flash training and instruction. Some of us got to know each other; I suppose it may be a different situation for fighter pilots, flying as a team. I just pilot a drop ship, picking up and putting down men with my face, yet I don't know them at all.
   I sit eating my lunch, surrounded by men physically identical to me, and yet utterly alone. All around me troopers share meals and conversation with their brothers. Whole pods of commandos, and those with losses; they all have something I don't. Gloomy as it is, I think I envy those who lost comrades the most. Or perhaps, I envy the lost.  I know that when I die, likely in a fiery blaze as I am shot down, none will shed a tear over the loss. I envy the relationships had by all the clones around me. The joy, the sadness... the attachment. Even the aloof ARCs have friends among the ranks, and among each other. Kark. The jedi, even, have bonds with the various soldiers. But who would claim a relationship with some miscellaneous pilot? Sometimes I wonder why I even have a name. I ponder the philosophy of it for a moment. If a clone dies alone in a battle, and nobody knows who he is, does he really even have a name?
   I sigh, and nobody hears me. Suddenly my food has lost all appeal.
   I stand, and walk out, and nobody sees me go.
   

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Mereel Skirata

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #3 on: June 18, 2010, 12:28:53 AM »
Great job so far Bvn!   Mereel wants more.
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Unit 899

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #4 on: June 18, 2010, 07:59:07 AM »
I like it.

Quote from: Eparavu
Then out of nowhere you are like I AM THE GODDAMN BRONY BATMAN.
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Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #5 on: June 18, 2010, 09:06:57 AM »
Meesa likey...

Seriously, this is excellent...
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #6 on: June 20, 2010, 11:01:57 PM »
Nooooo freeeeee tiiiiiime!  :dead:

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #7 on: June 24, 2010, 10:07:25 AM »
It's good so far.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #8 on: June 30, 2010, 05:48:42 PM »
   I close my eyes, slide on my helmet. I open them again, and feel as though I am seeing the world for the first time again. I don't know that I could ever live without a heads-up display. With the placemnt of the final piece of my armor, the suit seems to come alive around me, providing temperature, sound, and vision control. It is as if I am living parasitically inside another creature for protection. It is an odd thought. I often wonder if i should have such unorthodox thoughts. Perhaps it is just my mind's attempt at stimulation.
   I flex my fingers, enjoying the perfect fit of my armor. One of the few luxuries of being a clone. I have to wonder why I have armor at all; I doubt it would defend me from whatever could get to me through my ship. Makes me feel safer, nonetheless. I don't evny the superior kit of the commandos or ARCs. This armor is MINE. Well... it belongs to the grand army of the republic, but so do I. It has my name on it, at least. That is mine. If anyone ever finds my shattered armor and broken body, perhaps they will know what I called myself.
   I receive my debriefing through my helmet comm, as usual. Figures I wouldn't be brought up to speed with the soldiers; If I get captured I could be made to talk. Instead of just giving me my own gun, it is easier to ensure I have nothing to tell them.
   I climb into the cockpit of my larty, and fasten myself in. For a few moments I close my eyes, and daydream about another world, another life. A dream of freedom, and family. Of glory, and dying happy. The passenger hatch opens, and the dream is over.
   I don't need to look back to know who is in my ship. Feels almost violating, to just open the hatch and pile in, without even so much as introducing themselves to us. I glance back at the four commandos in my ship, having already made themselves comfortable. I don't lie to myself for a moment; I would give anything to be one of them, comfortably chatting in a closed circuit with their best friends and closest relatives. At the same time, I hate them. Hate them for having what I can not. Hate them for being less expendable than me. What can they possibly have to talk about, anyway; they are together constantly, I notice.
   I realize I am staring when, one by one, blue lit visors slowly turn to cast a gaze over me. I turn back to my controls and fire up the ship casually. I could do it in a heartbeat from muscle memory, but I want to look busy.
   It is already too late however, as one of the white armored clones is standing right behind me. I try to ignore him, until he raps on my shoulder plate.
   "Problem, vod?" I can't discern any inflection in his voice. He is speaking on the open frequency; I make a mental note to turn it off.
"No problems at all", I reply, and slam on the acceleration. The ship launches itself from the hangar with a kick, and the commando staggers, then falls over from the sudden shift. "And I am not your vod."

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #9 on: June 30, 2010, 06:12:02 PM »
Heh.

I love it...
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Vlet Hansen

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #10 on: July 01, 2010, 06:12:13 PM »
good... good
It's Indiana Vlet!
Stealing text walls everywhere!

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #11 on: July 11, 2010, 10:48:42 PM »
Hey guys I havent died nor forgotten. Just busier than a strill with a jar of peanut butter. Or you all trying to figure out wtf that means.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #12 on: July 11, 2010, 10:55:19 PM »
It always sticks to the fangs...

:D
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #13 on: July 13, 2010, 01:34:02 PM »
That's how they made the horse in Mr. Ed talk.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #14 on: July 15, 2010, 10:59:43 AM »
That is indeed the case.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #15 on: July 21, 2010, 10:05:22 PM »
   Oh, man this is boring. There is only so much for a pilot to do in getting from point A to point B. I try to count the stars drifting by, and quickly tire of it. I consider doing a roll, just to mess with my passengers but decide better of it. I don't think they would laugh, if I got all of them at once. Eheh.
   Geonosis looms in space before us. It hangs in the bleak void like an angry red eye, full of hate and accusation. I stare back, through a tinted visor, unblinking at the silent challenge from this titan, teeming with beings that would kill me given the chance. Not too different from my current situation. I can feel the commandos back there, glaring at me. They must have an important job to do: I am flying in slowly, thrusters dead, just drifting on my own momentum like a bit of debris to avoid detection. Meanwhile, on the opposite face of the planet a small assault is taking place, star destroyers and fighters, bombers and transports... just like me... buzzing around fighting another man's war.
   There is a small kick as I push us into the planet's gravity. We go from casual approach, which would result in us orbiting, to a blazing freefall into the atmosphere in seconds. I can't use the thrusters, of course, unless I want to be noticed and blasted out of the sky. Instead, a special compartment opens and ejects a lump of material-- i have no clue what it was-- that weighs enough to cause my ship to be pushed away a touch from the discharge. Clever.
   The cabin warms up as we blaze into the lower atmosphere. This larty must have seen some interesting modifications just for this mission. I wonder how I would endure reentry without reverse thrusters in a standard craft. Probably not well. The inky twinkling of space is long gone now, and the rocky ground grows ever closer.  I won't lie; I've considered just spiraling into it, kissing that beautiful red surface like my personal celestial lover, signaling the end of my days with a cornucopia of fire and flying metal.
   I pull up hard, as the altometer indicates I am below most radar, and slam on the proper thrusters. The ship levels casually, and slows to a gentle hover. I barely feel a thing, being strapped in properly. I can only imagine the armored wads of machismo in the back are feeling the g's, however. I punch the thrusters and acquire a decent speed, approaching a stark mountain rising from the geonosian soil, the landmark to signify the destination. I didnt know what the destination was; I was to put the commandos down and wait for the pickup call. Wait. They seriously wanted me to dawdle on a cliff waiting for some CIS scouts to happen by and slot me. Orders are orders though. I jsut wish they issued me a weapon that I could use INSIDE the ship.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

   Meanwhile, on the mountain, a pair of figures stand with their backs to a rocky wall. Their faces are obscured by menacing t-visored helmets, their bodies lined with green metal plates over a red body suit, and brown over green respectively. Armored fabric drapes around  their legs, housing hidden pouches akin to that from which the taller red one produces a pair of binocs. The short, brown figure shuffles his feet nervously, watching the growing dot that is a republic ship. He admires the shiny new CIS insignia freshly painted on his shoulder armor.
   "Buir?" He asks of the taller figure.
   "Yes ad'ika?"
   "Is that the enemy?"
   "Yes, it is. Looks like they're coming after the lab."
   "You were right, then. That battle is a diversion?"
   "Oh, I'm sure they will hold any ground they gain, but I think what we see here is their true objective."   

She unslung a massive weapon from her back, checked the chamber, and pointed it at the approaching craft. It was close enough, now, to see the republic sigil stamped on every facet.
   "Watch hetty'buir closely now, Bev'ika. This is the proper way to shoot down an aircraft without blowing it up; there may be something salvageable among them. And we don't waste, do we?"
Beviin shook his head, his still-too-large helmet bobbling on his shoulders.
Hettyc followed the craft with the front of her weapon until it beeped quietly, then fired.
« Last Edit: July 29, 2010, 09:30:41 PM by Barrel »

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #16 on: July 21, 2010, 10:08:31 PM »
SO MUCH WIN.
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #17 on: July 21, 2010, 10:10:46 PM »
ACK TYPOS MUST FIX

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Vlet Hansen

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #18 on: July 21, 2010, 10:53:28 PM »
Woah... good stuff.
It's Indiana Vlet!
Stealing text walls everywhere!

N-11 Ordo

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #19 on: July 22, 2010, 05:15:41 PM »
Great Ner'vod you should write more.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #20 on: July 22, 2010, 07:49:19 PM »
Might be able to do another tonight :O zounds.


Addendum: You guys better love this :P
Not my usual quality, but I had to write fast.
« Last Edit: July 22, 2010, 09:23:42 PM by Barrel »

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #21 on: July 22, 2010, 09:24:10 PM »
Darkness. Darkness everywhere. You clear it away and you find it was just holding a seat for more darkness. Feel better now Barrel?
NO.
Then what?
Just feel...
Alone?
...Yeah...
Pathetic.
Shut up... you dont know me.
If only that were the case.

"Wake up, CT-3470."
A cold, sterile voice wafts into my mind.
My eyes open. Or were they always open? I strain to close them again, to hide behind my eyelids.
I can't. They won't close... why?
The world seems murky, like I'm looking through water. I realize I am floating.
Oh no...
All around me, the harsh casing of a transparisteel tank. To a larger extent, rows and rows of them filled with tiny buds of flesh, floating, twitching, feebly trying to escape the horror of its own existance.
Slender pale figures browse the tanks, inspecting, judging. One stops at me, and its gaze changes.
"It seems this one is inadequate," coos the sickening tenor.
Thin, tendrilous fingers reach through the glass, coming for me.
I try to scream, but I have no mouth. I have no arms to fight back, nor legs to flee.
I have no chance. I have no choice.
The cold white fingers lace around me, crushing me.
The touch is so cold, so hard, so heavy...
I can't breathe.
This is it.

"Think he's dead?"
Did I say that? No...  But it sounded just like me..
Astounding pressure surrounds me.
"We couldnt be so lucky."
There it was again. But different.
My lungs scream for oxygen.
I can feel my fingers. I manage to move my left arm, groping around where my face should be. I feel a mess of ravaged metal. I try to sit up; I manage to shift the captive debris a bit. Slowly I alternate sitting up and pushing with my free arm. Eventually I force myself out from under the rubble, and taste fresh air again. The geonosian sun glares at me through my shattered visor.
"Shab, he's alive. I owe you a drink, Bangor."
I roll to my hands and knees, gulping air and coughing red dust. Two of the commandos stand before me, sillhouetted in the red luminescence.
"You bastards could have helped me."
"You looked like you had it."
I glance to my right. The third commando is crouched over the fourth.
"He's dead..."
The other two hang their heads.
"Not the first or last clone to die on Geo." I chide.
"What is the matter with you?" One of the standing clones approach where I half stand.
"Where do I begin?" I stand, looking him directly in the visor. "Spending one minute with you lovely lot, then the next unconcious under the remains of my ship kind of puts a damper on my mood." I don't want a fight with these matching murder machines, but I won't let them walk on me. We maintain eye contact for a moment, before he is pulled away.
"We need to complete the mission." The third commando rejoins the group. He glances at me. "Can you use a weapon?"
I scoff, and make a steering gesture with my hands. "If you've got a gun I can climb inside of and drive around!"
"Im getting sick of your attitude!" Bangor again.
"I'm getting sick of your face."
The trio of commandos stare at me for a moment, unsure what to make of the statement. Clone jokes reach a whole new level of hilarity if you are one.
We stood in silence for a moment, before the silence was broken by the a small tumbling of rocks.
The three commandos stared at the disturbance, as did I. Standing proudly atop a craggy spire, a blood-red mandalorian pointed a missile launcher at us.
"Shab!" shouted one of the clones, as we scattered. The nameless two went one direction, Bangor and myself went another. We dove for cover behind a smoldering heap of my ruined ship. There was a hiss, and an explosion. Bangor unslung his weapon and peered over our shield.
"NOOO!" He roared. As I peek over the ravaged hull, I see what had befallen the pair who had not found a shield.
Bangor fired his weapon at the mandalorian who had killed his brothers, and I turned to run. I dont know where I am going. Only that I needed to escape.
I skirt along the cliff face, hoping to find a way down, a place to hide until I could possibly salvage my radio. Behind me, the sound of blaster bolts echo from the mountain face. I round the corner, and come face to face with another mandalorian. I jump back, before realizing he is half my height.
"Wow you guys come in all sizes don't you?"
In his hands he grips two blades, the one in his right reversed.
"Good luck using those surrounded by rocks!" I look for a way around him, as he raises his right hand and drives the butt of his sword through my ruined visor.
For the second time in a few short minutes, things go black.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Hetty meandered around the wreckage, both human and vehicular.
"Bev'ika. There you are. Did you get the pilot?"
He hung his head. "No, buir... I accidentally knocked him off the cliff."
She laughed. "Thats my little verd'ika. Don't worry son, mine got away too. For knockoffs of Jango, those guys are pretty quick. Now help me gather up anything useful, and let's get back to the lab. We can likely be expecting company soon."

* * * * * * * * * * *

I awaken, hours later, a ways down the mountain. My body is throbbing. I take stock of my surroundings; I seem to have rolled down the side of the thing and under an outcropping. My ankle seems strained, but I can make myself stand. The geonosian sun has set, and it is growing cold.
I am all alone, stranded on an enemy world with no supplies, no applicable training and no hope.
...
I could really use a vod right now.
« Last Edit: July 29, 2010, 09:45:17 PM by Barrel »

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #22 on: July 22, 2010, 11:06:40 PM »
Did I mention I have a full plate?

Appetizer: EPIC
Entree: AWESOME
Main Course: BEVIIN'S FANFIC
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #23 on: July 24, 2010, 04:13:46 PM »
Glad you like it. I think I burned myself out on writing for a few days...

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Mereel Skirata

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #24 on: July 25, 2010, 08:02:45 PM »
Great job B,  as always I love how you write.    I'm sad for Barrel though, he has no friends...  :(




"No, buir... I accidentally knocked him off the cliff."  I lol'd

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Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #25 on: July 25, 2010, 08:07:02 PM »
You guys are all the fanship anyone could ever need ^>^

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #26 on: July 27, 2010, 04:44:16 PM »
We aim to counter-please...
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #27 on: July 28, 2010, 11:36:07 PM »
Everyone else seems to have lost interest. Right when it starts to get good.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #28 on: July 28, 2010, 11:38:14 PM »
You're forgetting us, man. Your dedicated fanbase.

Don't spit on us by changing canon, and introducing Darjar.
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #29 on: July 29, 2010, 05:51:18 PM »
Just heard the podcast... 'not exactly the pinnacle of literacy we strive for'? Thanks, Drake. I realize I'm often too excited about finishing to fix all my typos but that was a little unkind. Unless my craptop speakers lied to me and I misheard you, I think I am done on this forum. I dont put myself out there like that to take that sort of abuse.
« Last Edit: July 29, 2010, 06:06:37 PM by Barrel »

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Mereel Skirata

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #30 on: July 29, 2010, 09:51:34 PM »
I agree,  If he did in fact mean it as you think then he is wrong.   This is a very well written and played out story.   


Having read this and Child of Sight I have to completely disagree with Drake, had I been more alert in the Podcast I would have corrected him.


Keep up the great work and do some Barrel rolls while you're at it!
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Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #31 on: July 30, 2010, 12:09:10 PM »
I vaguely remember the comment. Remember what I said at the end of the podcast? "Everything mean I've said was a joke"? Then I made a comment about how people would take me too seriously and get upset? Your in that group. And when I made that comment I was thinking of the typos and again, making a joke. I openly bashed all of the Ky'rams and none of 'em left( as much as I was hoping :) ). And what do you mean by "this kind of abuse". One off-handed, marginally unflattering, joking comment is abuse? And saying you'll leave to forum for that is quite... I don't know the proper word for it. At least a word I can use that you won't blow out of proportion. And don't think I'll apologise, I have nothing to feel sorry for.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #32 on: July 30, 2010, 01:08:32 PM »
Well I admit I overreacted. Ysee Vhett there's this thing called real life, that can affect and influence what we do in our little text based world. If you ever find that your entire lifespan is measured by the level in a little glass vial, you may find that suddenly seeing it is empty will make you a bit spastic. So yeah, I flipped out a bit much.
 I counted my typos, by the way, there were 5 from part one to four. If you're going to get harsh on someone's art, make sure they at least deserve it.

No hate here, only creeper love.
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Staring from a distance.
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Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #33 on: July 30, 2010, 02:24:39 PM »
Don't get all weepy on me now.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #34 on: July 30, 2010, 02:43:12 PM »
That would be embarassing, Fett's Vhette.

No hate here, only creeper love.
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Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
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Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #35 on: July 30, 2010, 02:49:43 PM »
Is that supposed to be an insult? If so I'm touched that you tried so hard, but still managed to fail.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #36 on: July 30, 2010, 02:53:25 PM »
I just thought it was funny. If you're bent on an argument though I'm sure I can come up with something.

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Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #37 on: July 30, 2010, 03:00:59 PM »
An argument? Well, there are too many censors on the site for me to properly argue so....


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #38 on: July 30, 2010, 03:03:30 PM »
So what? You've failed to really clarify what is is you're driving at. Are you just trying to bother me now? Are you bored? Does anyone remember when this thread was about a clone pilot?

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Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #39 on: July 30, 2010, 03:59:16 PM »
We're killing time until you put up the next chapter.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #40 on: July 30, 2010, 04:02:52 PM »
Ah, there is always that. I will get it up when I can, my free time is too sparse and scattered to write.

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Carnivore 1

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #41 on: August 01, 2010, 11:39:26 PM »
Hi Everyone!

Let me throw something in here. I'd love to read some of your stuff but I'm WAY busy.

So do me a favor, ignore Drake and his mouth, sometimes he opens it without asking permission and strange things fall out, like rude comments when he's not intending it.
The  purpose of fighting is to win. There is no possible victory in
defense. The sword is more important than the shield, and skill is more
important than either. The final weapon is the brain. All else is supplemental.

Drake and I agreed on something. Somebody get the camera out to capture the moment.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #42 on: August 01, 2010, 11:46:59 PM »
I appreciate the attention. Soon as I finish making a livable environment out of my basement I'll be back to constant updates so, look forward to that ^_^.
And I can live with Drake, at least he's a reader :p

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #43 on: August 02, 2010, 08:37:28 AM »
Real life is a shabuir.
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #44 on: August 02, 2010, 11:23:57 AM »
Hey, at least I don't have a high pitched voice.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Vlet Hansen

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #45 on: August 02, 2010, 11:28:06 PM »
Smooth, Drake...
It's Indiana Vlet!
Stealing text walls everywhere!

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #46 on: August 09, 2010, 08:07:29 PM »
   Bangor sat alone in the middle of Geonosis' dry, red surface. He stood up in the trench he had dug himself, and peered from the camo tarp covering it. Nobody out there. Nobody in here. For the third time in his life, Bangor was entirely alone. He sat, and popped a food cube into his mouth. It was coated in the red dust that blanketed the planet, as was he.  He closed his eyes, tried to numb himself from his loss. The food cube was gritty, and tasted foul. He decided it was better than the nothingness of food cube classic. It took his mind off the loss of his mates, and his rage at their pilot. Between his unamicable attitude to piloting them to their dooms, he blamed the worst of it on Barrel.
   This was the third time he had lost his squad. The final survivor from a horrific training accident left him alone, until reassignment and acceptance by another squad. Then not once, but twice, this infernal planet had taken his entire unit from him. One would think that such events would make one numb to the loss, but it only seemed to dig a deeper gouge in a wound that would not heal. He closed his eyes, tried to remember what his mandalorian training sergeant told him: "Don't waste your time mourning your comrades on the field of war. Their deaths leave you with that much more responsibility to the mission. The best way to honor them is to put all of your attention towards that to which they gave their lives." Bangor slid his helmet back on, opening his eyes as the blue T lit up the dark trench. He had a job to do.

* * * * * * * *

   The stars sure are lovely. I lay on the rocky outcropping on which I landed, staring up at them. I have tried for hours to sleep, but it won't come for me. My leg feels better already; I stand and stretch. I am loath to leave the still-warm rock surface, as the night air is bitter cold and my damaged helmet seems to have set my climate control haywire. My face and torso are stiff and numb from chill, while my legs and feet are like plastoid containers of warm clone soup.
   I sigh, and begin looking for a way back up to my ship. There has to be something there I can salvage, some way I can call for help. My comm is useless. The mountain is an infernal spire of red stone, jagged points and, I would imagine a few traps. They know they have company now.
   I haul myself over ledges, up slopes and around cliff faces. This is grueling. I remind myself that if I ever make it back to safety, I am requisitioning a jet pack. That has to be how these mandalorians are getting around. I've overheard the stories, even saw Jango Fett once. Something like that would certainly be ideal for traversing this crimson hell scape. I crane my head around, straining my eyes and ears for any sign of armored death wafting in like a malevolent odor.
   I clamber over another ledge, and spot something in the gloom. I freeze, trying to further acclimate my eyes to the darkness.
"A ladder?" I wonder aloud.
   I could be wrong about the jet packs, I decide. The ladder is made of a heavy rope, tied several feet up. Convenient. I am all to aware that the overhanging cliff looms far out of my reach. One hand over another, I make my way up. My fingers are freezing cold; I hate this planet. Finally the ladder ends, and I climb up, grateful for not being molested while climbing.
   It takes less than a second to realize I am right where I stood a few short hours ago: the smouldering wreckage of my larty is still filling the area with black smoke. I glance up to the peak where the red mandalorian stood, with the rocket launcher. I have never been so relieved to find myself all alone. My eyes drift involuntarily in the direction the unfortunate two commandos ran. Katarn armor is certainly durable, but anything that could drop a transport from the sky certainly made a bigger mess of a wet, no matter the armor. Nothing they had would be useful.
   I wander over to my ravaged vessel, and find the third commando, the first death. I can see that the missile hit us in the front right. That explains why I took the second most damage, next to the unfortunate commando before me, his body a mess of plastoid, blood and rent metal. I waste no time mourning him; he is lucky to have lived as he had, with friends to die beside. I begin turning over rubble, frantically searching for his weapon. My luck has apparently run out, as everything useful has been liberated from his body by his killers. With not even a food cube to my name, my situation grows more grim.
   I tentatively climb back inside the husk of my ship, in hopes of finding a boon. The entire thing has been cleaned out, even going so far as removing the components of the console. I never knew mandalorians could be such scavengers. I turn to leave, hopeless, when a metallic glint catches my eye. Beneath my seat sits some forgotten item, passed over by my attackers. But what is it? It is not immediately recognizable as something from the ship, perhaps it is a container left behind by the commandos.
   I drop to my hands and knees, straining to view the mysterious object. No sooner do I reach for it, than it opens with an audible pop. Only then do I realize that in my fevered search for salvage, I stumbled onto something left behind intentionally.
   With a hiss, the tempting trap sprays a slimy blue liquid all over my face, my hands, even my knees where they touch the floor.
   "Awarrghaablaaarb"
   I shake my head, straining to spit out the foul goo and shake it from my face. However, it does not show any intention of releasing me, and I soon find I am rapidly growing more adhered to the floor of my ruined craft. In my struggle, I have now attached my forehead to my forearms, trapped in an embarrassing fetal position.
   I can hardly breathe, as the substance locks me in place, can not hear the gentle fwoosh sounds outside, nor that of four boots on geonosian stone. I can, however, hear a surprisingly female voice nearby, growing closer.
   "--can hardly believe, you clever little shabuir. You were right. We caught one. I wouldn't think these clones would fall for that. I'll be back shortly, with a guest. Tell them I said to prepare a force cage and my usual implements."
   I fought to break free of the incarceration I brought upon myself, but will not budge. There is a hiss, as a spray canister dispensing something, and suddenly I can remove my face from my arms. A pair of hands none-too-gently tear my helmet from my head. I open my mouth to speak, but don't know what to say. I feel the bite of a hypodermic in the back of my neck, and swear.
   I am possessed by a floaty feeling, as though I fly again without a ship, coasting above the ground with out worry. Then there is darkness.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Mereel Skirata

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #47 on: August 09, 2010, 08:53:52 PM »
Loved this chapter!   Clever Bev'ika!  :D



Bangor is becoming an awesome character.... fear him  >:D
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Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #48 on: August 09, 2010, 09:05:25 PM »
Hahaha.... yeah, I have plans for that one.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
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Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #49 on: August 10, 2010, 08:16:48 AM »
Did I mention that this is the best installment yet?


Oh, wait, I did. :D
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #50 on: August 10, 2010, 12:39:30 PM »
*Mimicks 2d voice* "You always say thaaat..."

No hate here, only creeper love.
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Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
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ALWAYS.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #51 on: August 18, 2010, 09:32:53 PM »
   Bangor scanned the wind-blasted surface of the mountain, searching for any sign of the mandalorians. Intel was determined that the enemy lab was located in the premises. He had no idea whether it was on the mountain, under it, or sitting in the open on the other side of the thing. The wind blew, and for a moment he thought he saw something. He centered on the area, waiting.
   There it was again. A flash between obscuring crags, a maroon offset on the flat red of the planet. Through brief flashes of movement, Bangor quickly determined the being's destination to be the cliff on which they crashed and his brothers died.       
   He could not see atop the cliff; the outcropping obscured his vision. He checked his equipment without looking, began unfastening his cover without looking away.
   Before long the figure reappeared, standing at the edge, staring down. Something white was slung across what was obviously the red mandalorian. Bangor absently ran his fingers over the various charred areas of his armor. So much fire. He had no choice but to retreat. He wished he had died instead; if the squad sniper were in his place, he could plant a shot right in the t-visor from here. Poor Joker, he thought glumly. Poor everyone.
   The mandalorian, much to his surprise, stepped lightly from the cliff, plummeting straight to a larger ring of rock, which surrounded the mountain's bottom in an effect not unlike a felucian mushroom turned upside-down.
   Halfway down the separatist warrior lifted its legs and activated a jet pack, illuminating a small sphere in the umbral sandscape. Bangor immediately recognized the figure carried as his pilot, Barrel. He was obviously alive, but unconscious. His limbs were slack and swayed gently; were he dead, early decomp would have rendered him rigid.
   Bangor stood in a crouch, his head peeking up from the trench. One hand was on his binoculars, the other on the edge of his camouflage tarp.
    His blood pounded in his ears, barely checked fury screaming like a mental patient in the back of his head. It spurred him to lurch from his hole, attack the arrogant mandalorian whilst it was unsuspecting. He forced himself to wait, to find out where it was going.
   The jet pack cut a few feet from the ground; the mandalorian landed in a crouch, squatting to minimize the impact.
   "What the shab are you doing?" Bangor wondered aloud. He was aware of the irony of the situation: swearing at his enemy in mando'a.
   As if to reply, the red figure turned to face the rock wall, still with Barrel over its back, and walked calmly forward as a section of wall gave it berth. The enemy, with hostage, calmly walked into the fissure, which closed immediately.
   Bangor sprang from his dug-in position and broke into a dead run toward the mountain. Now he knew where the target lay. His mission was clear: kill the mandalorian, destroy the facility, and possibly rescue Barrel. Now was his chance, to fulfill his duty to his squad, the republic, and a clone he did not even know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
   My name is Zero. I am a reasonably mellow, cheerful clone. I am five years old in galactic standard years, and learning to be a pilot for the republic. I am calmly enjoying my lunch. One of the rare days when we had free time on Kamino, was when the cuy'val dar have a meeting and the kaminoans were all busy. I took the time to get an extra meal, a small catharsis for my lot in life.
   "Zero!" I turned my head as Barrel came racing in. He looked panicked.
   "What is it?"
"Follow me! Quickly! We need to get to our dorms, fast."
   Barrel was my only friend on Kamino; another pilot, like me, the only company I have had in the five years of my existence. We would often sit together for meals, try to sit near one another during flash training. I can't imagine what it would be like to live here alone. He was always stern and serious, and acted a bit sardonic. His cynicism went right over me though, and I often forced a smile from him when nothing else could. He always told me I need to calm down, to 'act my age'. I reminded him that we were only five; this always brought the argument to a stalemate, but never a conclusion. He still insisted I should be more serious.
   Today however, his stoic disposition is overridden by a palpable aura of panic.
   "We need to hurry, Zero. There's no time."
   I follow him back to the dormitories, where he begins stripping off his uniform. I open my mouth to speak, confused.
   He interrupts me first: "Take off yours too. Quickly!"
   I oblige, filled with anxiety and fear. "What kind of game are you playing at, Barrel?"
   He hands me his uniform with identification insignia inscribed, and snatches mine from my hands. He begins redressing in my clothes, the garment that verifies my identity.
   "I'm not Barrel now, you are."
   "What?"
   He grabs me by the shoulders, and gives me a long hard look. "Whatever happens, no matter who asks, you are Barrel. Act like Barrel, think like I would, talk like me. You know me well enough to become me."
   "But why, Bar-- er, Zero?" I asked, playing along.
   Just then, as if to answer my question, a kaminoan technician glides into the room, gazing about with its large, haunting eyes. They settle on the pair of us.
   "Ah, there you are, ct-1042." I realize it meant my designation, currently displayed by my only friend in the world.
   Zero glares at me, conveying a silent message to say nothing. When his face turned to the kaminoan, it transformed into a portrait of devil-may-care nonchalance. 'Is that what I really look like?' I ask myself, scowling.
   "Yes ma'am!" He replies.
   The kaminoan's voice is like a surgical knife. Cold, sterile, and precise. "You have been selected for reconditioning," it coos softly the horrible phrase, "please come with me."
   My only friend in the world looked at me sorrowfully, then stood up straight and marched out of the room.
   I am Barrel. And I am a bitter, lonely clone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   I wake with a start, and scream involuntarily. I am sweating profusely, despite being, as I notice, naked. I am strapped to a metal table, surrounded by bare rock walls. Any curiosities I have are drowned out by the tremors of my nightmare. Whatever I was drugged with, it dredged up things I'd rather leave buried. The lighting is low, but not so much as to obscure the details of my environs. That is not to say, however, that there are any finer details. Just rock, all around me. Occasionally a power line snakes across the ground, but by and large there is only the metal table to which I am affixed, and a large metal door.
   I wonder what they did with my armor? Not that it matters, really. It is not as though I would have any use for it, damaged beyond practicality. I feel a pang of mourning when I recall the state my craft was in. It is funny that as I lay naked, likely waiting to be tortured and killed, my thoughts are for my armor and ruined ship.
   My time to think is short, however, as the metal door slides open. I expect to see one or both of the mandalorians that assaulted me, but instead am approached by a battledroid, in turn escorting a medical droid. The cylindrical medical unit glides over to my table, sinister implements twitching in a disconcerting manner. One mechanical arm raises, brandishing a readied hypodermic.
"What is that?!" I shriek.
The battledroid's vocabulator croaks: "It is just bacta."
"Are you serious?"
"Roger roger."
   With no choice in the matter, I accept the injection. The med droid jams the syringe into my neck; I flinch,  not bothering to act tough for some tinnies.
   "Why are you bothering to let me convalesce?" I inquire at the sentry droid. It stares back with its empty, dead photoreceptors. I have to wonder if, somewhere in its complex mind of metal and electricity, it is the same as I am. A conscript in another man's war, a pitiful existence that never asked to be.
"Answer me!" I gurgle at the droid, straining my bare neck against my restraint. I finally look like I have always felt: the republic's trained beast, collared and restrained. "Are you going to torture me? Keep me healthy as I have to be to maximize your liberty? Well have fun you separatist bastards, I don't know anything! This infernal republic has us grown like crops, harvested to be thrown like expendable ammunition at their foes! Then they can't be bothered to tell us even why we're doing it! So come on, have at me! Just make sure I'm dead when you're done finding out nothing, I am getting out!"
   I realize I am ranting at a pair of droids. I don't expect a response.
"Roger roger." The droid replies.
   Before I can verbally lash out at it again, the door slides open, and the mandalorians partly responsible for my current position stride into the room. To my surprise, the taller one removes its helmet. I am shocked to see the cascade of brown hair that emerges, taken aback to find that my attacker and captor is not only a woman, but a fairly young one, and more than reasonably attractive to a clone.
   She clips her helmet to her belt; the shorter one beside her shifts his feet. He doesn't move otherwise. The female mando looks me up and down; despite having spent countless hours nude among other clones, republic officers, and kaminoans, I felt suddenly naked for the first time.
   "An interrogation is still on the menu," she begins. I have never heard a voice like hers. So full of warmth, and ice, simultaneously. So human. I have heard female jedi speak, but they are invariably monotonous detached. As if they are so afraid of commitment as to conform their tone to their garb. Suddenly my neck and wrist restraints are loosened; I am more comfortable, but still immobilized.  "But I think we have more important things to talk about first."
   Without warning, the shockwaves of an explosion rock the entire room.
"We will have to talk fast," she adds, "it looks like your friend finally followed the bait."

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #52 on: August 18, 2010, 09:55:24 PM »
LIKELIKELIKELIKE


Except for that Zero bit.

I hate you for that :P
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Drake Vhett

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #53 on: August 18, 2010, 11:21:05 PM »
My favorite part was the bit with Zero. Helped flesh out the character and show us why Barrel is like he is. But then I have a much more refined taste than you Ky'ram Parjai'Kote the twentieth.


Drake is flamboyant, and may go over the top, but if he were not that extrovert then who would move things along?

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #54 on: August 18, 2010, 11:24:27 PM »
I am so glad someone could appreciate that part.
The input means a lot.
Next part is the last one! The end of Vode None, the genesis of many other stories.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #55 on: August 19, 2010, 08:01:17 AM »
Yeah, at least Barrel understands what I meant by "I hate it".

Meaning I liked it, I'm just teasing him for it.
Lists of games I play:
-- Star Trek Online
-- KOTOR (1 and 2)
-- SWTOR
-- Terraria
-- TF2
-- Magicka
-- Left 4 Dead 2
-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #56 on: August 31, 2010, 09:32:21 PM »
   Bangor squatted in the darkness, frantically tapping at his data pad. This facility was small, but whatever they were doing here was of absurd significance to the CIS. Try as he might, he could not seem to penetrate their firewalls to view their files, nor could he access the camera system. the place was sealed up tighter than a holocron. Electronically, at least. He had managed to snoop around the entrance and find the waste chute, where he was currently huddled, thanking the republic for air filtration systems. As he worked, he allowed himself to daydream back to happier days, such as when he had gotten his tongue stuck in aforementioned ventilation system. The squad laughed at him for days.
   Which squad was that? The first? Second? Not the third, certainly. He reluctantly allows himself to pose the question to nobody. He was loathe to admit that with each loss and the eroding influence of time, his memories blurred and bled into one another. It didn't matter. Nothing matters except the here and now, the mission at hand. Finally satisfied that he was getting nowhere, Bangor unplugged his data pad from the data line and replaced the bit of panelling he had removed to get to it.
   What was the next move? Think. He could set a small charge to provide entry into the 'freshers, but that would draw attention. No... what he needed was a distraction. Bangor placed the small entry charge to the drain form the 'freshers, set it on a five second delay. He then reached to his belt and thumbed the now grime-covered detonator. With more enjoyment than one would expect, he pressed the button, activating the massive 'door charge' as he called it, placed right at the entrance to the facility.
   The world went on spin-cycle for a moment, as the shockwave threw him to his back. He was grimly reminded of when Barrel was responsible for something similar. Bangor had heard of clones with bad attitudes, but Barrel was a jerk. Still, so long as he was a clone fighting for the republic, he was a brother.
   The second charge popped a shallow echo of the first, showering his visor with horrid organic refuse. Light shone through the hole he had made, and he charged through without hesitation. The time for plans was gone, from this point was naught but hope and improvisation.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

   A few moments prior, a man dressed in a lab coat staggered into the refreshers, drained of color and visibly horrified.
"Ohnohnohnoimgonnadie" He panted, breathless. He had just started his shift when the front door erupted in a shower of flame and rocky shrapnel. Without hesitation he had ducked into the nearest room, to hide. Nobody would look for him here. Then came another bang, smaller, but much closer. He realized it was a few feet away. Slowly, with stricken face, he turned his gaze toward the stall that was responsible.
"Jyural? Tell me that was you man." His voice broke as panic overtook reason, and he backed toward the wall. He could hear droids clomping about in the hall, preparing to defend the facility.
   The scientist involuntarily soaked his uniform as the stall door burst open, and gave berth to a monster streaked in black and red and smelling of horror.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   Bangor was in full kill-mode, and loving every minute of it. To his pleasure, the droid sentries were investigating the main entry, and never expected a filth-streaked commando to burst from the 'freshers, firing his deece and generally causing a scene. He had equipped the ion attachment to his gun, and as a result the droids fell before him by the handful. He could hear more approaching, and in preparation closed the distance to one  thumb-shaped super b*droid that yet stood against him in the cavernous entry. He ducked under its firearm-arm, ejected his vibroblade, and uppercut hard into the droid's photoreceptors. He withdrew his arm, and immediately shoved his data pad into the droid's access port. Within the few seconds that reinforcements arrived, he had stripped the droid's programming, leaving only fire and walk on automatic. As foes marched stiffly around the bend from the hall, they were met with Bangor walking slowly behind the droid, firing his gun over its shoulder as it shot blindly at its brethren.
   At that moment, if one could silence the array of blaster-fire and the clanking of mechanical limbs, they would hear only Bangor's maniacal laughter echoing throughout the reaches of the hidden facility. It was a mad, bellowing laugh, but a small change in perspective would imply that he was crying. Yet still he fought on, long after the droid and his weapon both exhausted their munition, long after portions of his Katarn armor was gradually burned away by the defending droids.  One eye glared out from a hole seared into the visor, wide and unblinking.
   Scientists, droids and staff fell before his onslaught, which was unhindered until a door opened at his approach to reveal the mandalorian pair that had murdered his squad. They seemed shocked to see him, insofar as an emotionless t-visor will portray. He dove toward the red one first, driving his vibroblade into its throat, then ripping it out with a gush and a gurgle. The smaller brown one stepped back in horror, but did not get far as Bangor tackled it. Pinned face-to-ground, the armored figure struggled helplessly as Bangor, fueled by rage and blood lust, firmly gripped the front of the helmet as well as the underside of the chin, covered by a neck-seal. He roared his vengeance at his foe and twisted until he heard a snap, and then for a moment after. He stood, looking defiantly into the t-visors staring back at him, and he swore to himself that the inanimate visages looked satisfyingly lifeless.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   I open my eyes, and blink furiously. Why was I asleep? Oh, not again! I've been drugged! That has to be the case; I never dream if I am drugged. A small consolation to the situation. I look around: bare rock, one security door. My, what decor. In its simplicity it reminds me of Kamino. I would rather be underground than back at that infernal hydropolis. Is that even a word? Beats me, but I am keeping it.
   I try to stand, and quickly find myself tethered to the wall. Well, that is just keen. I can not remember what happened before I woke up... they must have found some use for me. A glance at my cellmates sends a cold lance of fear through my gut as to what I may be used for. A few feet away, there sit huddled together a pair of humanoids, clad in the same patient-garb I wear. They appear to be a young male and an adult female, but I can't be sure. The younger one, with short-cut brown hair, has bandages wrapped around his eyes. They are soaked through with blood; I am horrified to consider why.    
   The pair sit in silence, not moving or looking around. Occasionally there is an explosion from beyond the door, and the three of us face it, not knowing what to expect. Each time, the sound seems to be growing closer.    
   My head feels like a fog, slowly clearing as the medication wears off. I am groggy, and having recollection problems, but I feel oddly well. I strain my mind to help me remember, but it seems like a far off light in the fog. I bury my face in my hands. This is miserable. I have been captured, and any minute now the fighting will be over, and business as usual will resume. A part of me considers that it beats being a lackey to the republic.
   The blaster fire dies, the explosions stop. Somebody must have won. The door slides open, and I stand, ready to face whoever came through it.
   To my shock, and chagrin, 'whoever' happened to be the one surviving commando. His armor was positively riddled with burn marks, entire missing sections, blood, and what appeared (though I am loathe to believe) to be poo. My imagination whirs comically at the possible explanations. It jars loose a bit of my memory, from before my blackout. Ah, that is right. Now I remember.
   "NER VOD!" The commando howls at me. He spreads his arms as though he were about to hug me. I back away, and put my hands up. What was with him? He seemed a touch... touched. For starters, nobody was ever that happy to see me. Secondly, he is lacking the DC-17 ubiquitous to commandos, and is instead wielding a severed droid arm by the wrist.
   "I will free you with haste, comrade! Then we will finish our mission for the republic!"
   He hobbled with evident exhaustion over to the control panel by the door. The nearby medical droid waved its various limbs menacingly; without looking, he kicked it aside. Seconds later, I was released from my bonds. I glance at my cellmates. They do not regard me.
   "A few things first, Bangor... for starters, see if you can locate a means of escape with that console."
   He claps his gauntleted hands together excitedly, then turns back to the controls.
   "Secondly," I resume, as I bend over the prone medical droid. I grasp it around the rim of what I choose to consider its head. "I'm done with the republic."
   He turns to face me, a touch too slowly, as I catch a glimpse of his one exposed eye, wide with insanity, before I swing the droid into the side of his head. He grunts and lands in a heap. I drop the flailing medical droid, and stare at Bangor's unconscious form.
   "Lastly, I told you once before. I am NOT your VOD."
   I hear feet shuffling behind me. I turn to see Hettyc Talyc Eparavu releasing herself from her bonds. She claps slowly.
   "Well done Barrel. Nice improvisation. Bev'ika, are you ready?"
   The smaller figure nods, but does not remove his bandages. Unsettling. I am beginning to wonder what kind of folks I have thrown my lot in with, but there is little for it now. I follow them out of the room and down the hall, taking in the carnage wrought by the mad commando. Dismembered droids lay scattered everywhere, and in some areas huddled groups of personnel look to have been brutally executed.
   "What a monster." Hettyc says what I am thinking. "Good thing we used decoys; If we tried to fight him we would likely have died. I might have been able to handle him, but I can't risk my sons' lives." She opens a door to a room full of lockers, and looks back at me. "I mean you too, Bar'ika."
   I avert my gaze while they change into their armor, and ponder what she said. I could feel myself flush involuntarily at the words. The last thing I expected to find on Geonosis was a family. The final wispy clouds of the drug gone, I can remember clearly her offer to join them, to give up my world of plastic slaves pretending to be mandalorian, to be an authentic, proud warrior of iron. I asked her, in my infinite cynicism, what she could possibly want with me. I am no warrior. I couldn't even keep my ship from being shot down, and piloting is all I know. She laughed, that warm, non-mocking chuckle. Said she could teach me. But that I had survived their attempt on my life was the only prerequisite. And my desire for a better life.
   I turn back around, to find them more or less outfitted in their iron armor. A chill runs up my spine as the twin t-visors turn toward me, mouthless faces whispering promises of death. An increasingly familiar voice breaks the mysticism.
   "Sorry Bar'ika, I don't have any armor for you... yet." She tosses me a uniform, with the CIS emblem shining from its insignia. I pause only for a moment, feeling the gravity of my actions. Then I shed my prisoner's garb, and stepped one leg at a time into my new role in life.
   "Good. Now let's get to the ship." She leads us toward the opposite end of the facility, far from the scenes of mortality and betrayal.
* * * * * * * * * * *
   Bangor stirred. His mind flashed with images and impulses. He did not think. He did not hesitate. He stood, and raced out into the hall. He would find the mandalorians. He would find the traitor. He would kill them all.

* * * * * * * * * * *

   I stare wistfully up at the LAAT sitting serenely amidst various separatist vehicles. Hettyc presses a button on her gauntlet, causing the hangar doors to open with a rumbling and grinding of stone. I turn to face her, smiling.
   "My favorite. How ever did you know?"
   Hettyc stuffed some weapons into a bag and slung it over her shoulder. Her son, Beviin, stood with his arms crossed in silence, bringing only the swords on his back. I remember all too clearly being smashed in the face with it.
   "We don't like to let good kit go to waste. Yours was a necessary loss. Am I forgiven?"
   I cannot see her face, but I can picture the smile underneath the helmet. I slide the hatch open and move to the cockpit.
   "Hello there," I say, caressing the controls. "My name is Barrel. pleased to meet you."
   I sit down and fire up the engines. The larty hums happily. I can sense we will work well together. Behind me, Hettyc has loaded her weapons and sat down. Beviin is climbing in behind her. His head is drooped, but suddenly snaps to attention.
   "Hurry vod, we need to go now." He slams the hatch on the larty shut.
   I don't question the creepy little squirt, lifting off and preparing to fly far away from the place. According to Hettyc, there business there was concluded.
   We gain a few feet's height, and I punch the thrusters. In a matter of seconds, we are sailing out over the red geonosian surface. It feels so good to fly again. I glance back, and see Beviin staring at the hatch.
   "Problem?" I shout back at him. He nods.
   "We have company."
   Hettyc stands to join her son, producing a flechette gun. Without warning, the hatch opens and a screaming Bangor is clawing his way inside. Beviin tries to kick at him, but his foot is grabbed by the intruder.
   "BAAAARREEEEEEELL!" Bangor howls. "TRAIIITOOOOR!" He slides backward more from the ship as we gain speed. He is clutching Beviin's foot, the owner frantically swiping at Bangor with his sword. Before he can drag my new brother from the craft, Hettyc drops the flechette gun and grabs her son's free arm with both of hers.
   "BAAAARREEEEEELL!" Bangor yowls. I punch the autopilot and scramble to my feet. I'm sick of being limited to driving while others fight. I grab the flechette gun from the ground, and find the trigger. I face the gaping hatch, at the red dust billowing by and the rabid clone trying to kill my family.
   I point the gun more or less at his face.
   "Get off my ship."
   I pull the trigger, and there is a flash as the slug thrower sprays its munition at the target. Some pings off Beviin's shin plate, off the floor, or sails out into the open. However, my aim was just good enough that most of it impacted with Bangor with a loud pop. The commando released his captive handhold and plummeted from the ship. I never looked back to see where he landed.

[I I IoIOIE<))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))> Epilogue 

   The room was dark. Through the one-way transparisteel they could see the clone sitting patiently in a chair as he was asked questions about his mission. One figure picked a bit of lint from its robes, then spoke.
   "What are we seeing here, general?"
   The other figure replied: "RC-4334. First went by Tratto, then his last squad convinced him to change it to Bangor. He has failed to respond to either. Oddly for a clone trooper, he is preferring his numerical designation."
   They watched Bangor report his mission. He was calm, but his eyes held a feral rage behind them.
    "It took us days to find him; he wandered the desert for an undetermined amount of time before highjacking a separatist patrol vehicle and sending out a distress beacon. When we picked him up, he was in an uncanny state: near mortally wounded, covered in blood and filth, and his armor almost completely destroyed. Yet somehow he still managed to not only survive, but succeed in escaping. We have a truly unique specimen on our hands."
   The other figure fidgeted. "He seems a bit... unstable."
   "Which is entirely beneficial, I think. His experiences will serve him well when he gets back from his ARC training."
   "ARC training? Are you mad?" The first figure found a loose string in his robes and tugged it nervously.
   "Think about it. ARCS are prized for their independent and creative thought. I think this one may prove to be a paragon of that virtue."
   "He is insane!"
   "He is the perfect amount of sane for what I have planned for him: he will be a top clone hunter."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   Sarlacc squad sat in the felucian foliage, silently chewing their food rations. The past few days had been hard, and pickup was late. Morale was dropping, but none of them wanted to say what was on their minds.
   Charge looked at his brothers, and opened his mouth to speak. However, he was interrupted by a sound they all knew too well. The alien funguses and massive plants shook with a familiar sound, a sound of salvation, of familiarity and safety. They stood as one, and celebrated in their own way, cheering, taking off their helmets, hugging their brothers as the larty drew near. They waved down the craft they so longed to see, but soon realized something was amiss.
   The craft hovered, and did not lower. Instead of dropping sideways and opening the hatch, it swiveled to face them, revealing the CIS emblem painted over its insignia. Behind the transparisteel windshield, a figure with their face but clad in blue-and-black armor waved cheerfully at them, then pressed a button and released the missiles.

                                       His name is Barrel. He is a happy, fulfilled clone.

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Ky'ram Parjai'Kote

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #57 on: August 31, 2010, 10:08:32 PM »
...Dude...

You...

You...

Shab you for being so awesome.
Lists of games I play:
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-- Garry's Mod
And nearly any other F2P game on this planet.

Mereel Skirata

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #58 on: September 01, 2010, 11:26:26 PM »
Ho.........ly.................CRAP   


I dunno what to say dude....
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Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #59 on: September 01, 2010, 11:32:22 PM »

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

Eparavu

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #60 on: September 01, 2010, 11:54:38 PM »
Wait till its Bangor's turn for a story.  :D

No hate here, only creeper love.
Watching you through your windows.
Staring from a distance.
Always watching.
Always loving.
ALWAYS.

RC-1499

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Re: Vode None.
« Reply #61 on: July 10, 2012, 03:18:17 AM »
Ep finally convinced me to read this. One word.


AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!