Monday, September 7, 2009

SPACE KILLS, the Journal of Flash Ironfist (conclusion)

Did I mention that we completely eradicated the Sith army and saved the universe? There will now be peace, until a whiny asshat with mommy issues only gets to fuck Natalie Portman one time and therefore gets sent into a violent rage, destroying the entire Jedi population. Man, this peace shit is boring, I better go find that asshat now. And fuck Natalie Portman, even if she is like negative-four thousand years old.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

SPACE KILLS, the Journal of Flash Ironfist (continued)

Day Six: I have undertaken a new project for the rest of our voyage: I will cause Mokawa to break her vows. Less for my intense hatred for her and more for the severe space-boredom. The key is to start out slow and irritating, and slowly build the frustration and anger. For now, all of Mokawa's people will be known as Furries and everything that their society has accomplished will be referred to as cute. Whenever she tries to interrupt a maiming or killing, she will be tossed a ball of string and a chew toy, because it's unclear which one she would go for first. My guess would be a chew toy shaped like a bantha dong.

Day Seven: We stopped by Eriadu City, apparently for more dry food that turns to gravy when water is added, and wound up rescuing the child of the mayor. It had fallen into a pit containing two rancors, which I can't even begin to relate as a fucked-up posession for the Mayor of an insignificant Port City. The four of us managed to take out one of the rancors before Dish was struck down, only to be revived by me calling him a one-holer (to the unitiated, an Ithorian mutant that has a dick with only one hole - a grievous insult). This sent him into a temporary barbarian rage that allowed him to deal the killing blow. The other rancor was removed from battle by a clever trick by Chappie, namely closing the portcullis that was there the whole time and trapping the rancor in its holding pen. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of us emerged from the pit very curious as to what color we could make the mayor pee before we dissected him, and Mokawa was bitching in the background about how barbarian rage was not specified as an acceptable practice according to the Jedi Handbook. But instead of gutting the mayor, Mokawa removed him from office and Tweeted the Jedi Council to get a new election started sans rancor ownership. While she was busy doing all of this, I ate the rescued child as a serious political statement, but it ended up coming off as cartoonish since I fed her through one mouth and spit the bones out of the other. Mokawa either never found out about this or is now officially afraid of her companions -- and rightly so.

Day Eight: the thing about Jedi is that they never shut the fuck up. At least Dish, as Pad-i-ouan learner, only has to pretend like he's listening. I'm sure the class he will no doubt take on non-stop pacifist discourse will destroy his soul.

Day Nine: we have arrived in Serpindal airspace. There are a lot of ships about. Chappy is breathing a sigh of relief and I'm pretty sure he has a rock-hard boner. I just want to get on the ground and start fucking tight assholes with my new Rancor-tooth 'poon.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Incoming Transmission

To: Ahab, Inc.
FROM: Bangulor
CC: Gygax
SUBJECT: Patriotic Duty
DATE: 7083 Corellia-22

Greetings, Far Zarnar, Capt. Goodspeed, and all Pequod crew,

Your friend and accountant Bangulor respectfully requests the honor of your prescence at the Corellian National Ballroom of the Tapsbor Hotel & Convention Center on 8001 Corellia-22 (three weeks from today) for a meeting of great patriotic importance. All Republic loving, serious-minded businessmen should be eager to post RSVP and plan attendance!

Time of meeting is evening 7:00 C0rellia time. As patriots, we look to what is inside rather than what is without, but the Tapsbor Hotel is a swanky joint, so attire should be formal. NO WEAPONS. Meeting passcode provided upon RSVP.

Of course, being great lovers of the perpetuation of small business, the Tapsbor has graciously agreed to discount nightly rate of 500 R. Credits. Of course, in order to gaurantee rate, we are forced to gaurantee occupancy, so we respectfully request that you choose the Tapbsbor for your accomodation needs while at the meeting (minimum two-night stay required).

Bring your love of the government (and your credit chips) for this highly imformative and educational meeting for all to mandatoraly attend! We look forward to seeing you soon!


Sr. Accounts Mgr.
Corellian National Bank
Capital Branch

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

SPACE KILLS, the Journal of Flash Ironfist

Day One:
I have begrudgingly agreed to be a part of the campaign to Sernpidal, where we will probably be slowly tortured like so much meat on a spit and rendered for soap. This decision was based on careful weighing of the pros and cons of each option: even though the chosen campaign would be spearheaded by a smelly carpet that could only be calmly described as a pulsating cockwelt, and death is imminent, I know I will be able to kill many people. The other option is to pussyfoot around the galaxy with tin cups looking for trading company handouts, accompanied by two personality vacuums and the physical embodiment of evil. The choice, as it were, seems obvious.
On our way out of Gilead's range, we passed by the Pequod, and there was a tiny explosion to be seen on the far side. Curious that there was no sign of any enemy fire, and the ship seemed to be operating normally after the explosion; whatever caused the explosion, it certainly could not have been poetic justice.

Day Two: We have been in transit for a full day now, and I have read every piece of information or text that is available on this ship.

Day Three: We encountered a small patrol ship of Sith sympathizers. Or at least, that's what Chappy and I told Mokawa when we intercepted the transmission. Luckily, no evidence remained to cast doubt on our story. Mokawa said later that she knew it was Sith because she sensed a great disturbance in the force. She's so unoriginal. [plus one dark side point]

Day Four: Actual Sith this time, as we stopped in a random port populated by smelly humans on a planet I can't bother to commit to memory. There was one androgenous fuck totally giving my man the hairy eyeball, and he was wearing dark robes, so we started talking loudly about how Sith are pussies, and he drew his light stick. Shit ain't right, son!

Day Five: I've been eating the same slug-and-spinach stew every meal for five days now and I swear to God, if Mokawa gives me one more five-minute speech about humanitarian concerns I'm going to rip her tongue out through her asshole. I was taught that move special. It's a good move. And she has shit clumps in her ass fur.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Battle on Gilead

Moving into the Ithor System the first thing we all noticed is that there was no blockade. No ships, nothing. Immediately though I could feel space closing in on me. I was extremely unsettled and disoriented. It was fast apparent that other felt the way I did; only the other force users. Goodspeed guided us down to the planet and into the city of Cowdong while those of us affected avoided looking out the view ports.

As we flew in it became obvious Cowdong had been in a battle. Buildings were destroyed and rubble lined the street. We docked and rented a speeder; our cargo was to be delievered to the Republic Embassy. The Wookie Jedi and Dish rode up in the cab with Goodspeed who was driving. I rode in the back with the cargo. We had a quite drive through the streets. Too quiet. When we reached the embassy, we noticed that it had taken the most damage. Conversing with our furry friend back aboard the Pequod, the decision was made to abort the delievery. We turned the speeder around and then all Void broke loose.

Three speeders loaded with "law enforcement" shot out of nowhere in pursuit of our speeder. Goodspeed began cutting through alleys and around rubble, trying to shake them. Opening the cargo door I used the force to create an illusion over our speeder.

Meanwhile, our wookie moved the Pequod to another docking bay, but was followed by three airships. As we got closer to the new docking bay, the airships began careening around the bay. I crawled ontop of the speeder as we raced through the streets and began looking for the airships. Seeing them I noticed I could see the pilots through their windshields. I had never done it before, or even contemplated it, but I reached throught the Force and grabbed one of the pilots by the throat. No enough to kill, but enough to distract. His airship banked suddnely to the right as he lost control, just as Goodspeed drove into the docking bay at full speed and right up the cargo ramp and into the hold of the Pequod. Immediately the Pequod hit full throttle and we headed into space.

Once in orbit we saw the blockade. Hundreds of ships, just waiting. They must have been cloaked in a force illusion; I have heard that these Sith are force users. An illusion of that scale though... they must be powerful indeed. We were hailed by their command ship. A commanding woman dominated the screen, and demanded that we surrender. Goodspeed tried to stall verbally. Behind the woman I noticed several other humans, all operating different stations. A quick conference with the Wookie identified one of those humans as operating some sort of "ion" weapon, presumably at us. Trying to minimize attention I reached out through the Force again and quietly began choking that human. It was a good plan. A plan that might have worked if the Wookie Jedi hadn't screamed "Noooo!" and lunged at me. Flash and our wookie intercepted her. She was completely unmindful of our situation but could only focus on attacking me.

I continued to choke the human on the Sith ship. My victim pounded on his console, alerting the others to his plight. The navcomputer dinged that it was ready just as the Sith crew, distracted by my victim, turned away from us. Goodspeed gave the order and we jumped to lightspeed.

Our wookie immediately tried to take command. "Wroow rawr rooo Rawr" he said, which I, now able to speak his language, understood to mean "everybody out of the cockpit except me and Goodspeed." People began leaving but I held my ground. If he and Goodspeed wanted to plot against me, they would have to do it in the crew quarters. "Out," he growled at me imperialously. I held my ground. Turning to Goodspeed he said "I don't care if he is the owner, you're the captain, and here you are in charge. Now do as I say and order him out!" Goodspeed looked at me uncomfortably yet remained still. Grumbling the wookie gave up and pulled us out of hyperspace. Running a new course through the navcomputer we leaped back into hyperspace, this time directly toward Gilead. The title of first mate has aparently given him delusions of grandeur. Sighing in disgust with the situation, I left the cockpit and walked into an argument.

Dish and Mokawa (the Wookie Jedi) were in an argument concerning my use of the Force. Not wanting to cause undue stress for Dish, I humbly explained my position, and graciously agreed not to use the Force to choke people around her. Rudely she stalked off muttering to herself. A sour disposition must be a wookie trait.

Sometime later we landed on Gilead and met with the Jedi Order (Gileadean Interp.). We were deep in negotiations when we became aware that another ship had landed on the outskirts of Memorial City. We headed out (us and the Jedi (offworld and locals)). What we found was the ship that gave us trouble about the radon. And a fight.

It was an extremely brutal fight. Most of the Jedi died before the worm-headed leader was brought down. In the final moments the enemy ship tried to take off. The Wookie and I (our wookie, not that Mokawa character) used a magnetic grapple gun to gain access to the departing ship. Running into the cockpitI captured the pilot, holding him face down on the floor by putting my glaive on the back of his neck. Turns out my effort was for not; the wookie came in and stepped on the glaive, beheading my captive. Regardless, victory was ours- as well as a new ship.

Monday, July 13, 2009

A Bad Day for Gor

From his position inside the air duct, Gor could hear footsteps – heavy, confident clomping. His sallow Sullustan skin was clammier than usual, and he found himself having to constantly wipe down the handle of his blaster to keep a firm grip on it. Their life-form scans would pick him up, no doubt, but what this position lacked in relative obscurity, it gave him high ground and a decent vantage point. He wasn’t sure how many Jerry had gotten to before they breached the blast doors of the cargo bay. He was fairly confident he could take out two from this spot if his aim was true, but there had been at least six approaching his ship…
His ship. It still sounded strange – here he was, a journeyman mechanic , less than two years off the planet, and now Tankerd was referring to him as “Captain Gor.” Not bad for an orphan of Sullust, the kind of murky-eyed vermin everyone expected to wander into the tunnels and disappear into oblivion. Still, Captain? Goodspeed and his Wookiee were either in a terrible hurry, or they had an unshakeable belief in the power of luck. Heck, the way Goodspeed put the keycard in his hands and smiled at him convinced Gor he really was the right man for the job.
Outside, he heard the footsteps stop, and through the slats of the grate, watched the handle of the door jiggle. Gor wasn’t sure he should’ve locked it – it gave away his position, after all, but it did give him a couple of seconds’ worth of an advantage. He steadied his hand, estimated the position of their heads, and took aim.

Tankerd hadn’t liked it, of course, but Goodspeed had found him first. And it was about time Gor got to take the lead on a job, about time he got to be in charge of something, to have a say in what they did. The way Tankerd saw it, his bladder cheated him out of the job.

“Gin,” he sneered while inspecting his quarters that first time. “Alderanian drink. Goes right through you. I had to get up to piss twelve times that night.”

After determining which quarters were the Captain’s, Gor had let Tankerd have his pick of the rest. It had been hard to figure out which ones were the Captain’s quarters, though, because it wasn’t nearly the size of the room Tankerd got – that room had belonged to someone named Temiel. Goodspeed’s former quarters were much smaller, and unlike Temiel’s, didn’t even have their own private john.

Of course, it was his bladder that had saved Tankerd this time, and may have doomed Jerry and Gor. Just as they finished loading their first cargo on board at Dantooine – a healthy shipment of gold – Temiel excused himself to the docking bay’s bathroom. It would be the last time Gor saw him, as the ship with the Twi’lek and his goons arrived shortly after, blasting his ship – His ship! – and sending he and Jerry scrambling. They had managed to get the cargo bay closed, and Jerry told Gor to hide. It was his job, after all, to protect his Captain.

Looking back on it, Gor became overwhelmed by the gesture. He promised himself if he and Jerry somehow survived this, the Rodian muscle would be his second in command, not Tankerd, big room be damned.

To Gor’s surprise, a red laser shot through the door and sliced off the handle. It produced an unearthly hum, a consistent, monotonous tone that was an anathema to Gor’s sensitive Sullustan hearing. Attached to nothing, the door swung open, revealing the Twi’lek holding the laser on… some sort of hilt, like a sword, it appeared, and flanked by a pale, near-Human looking goon with a blaster rifle and the big one, a human of almost six and a half feet brandishing a vibro-blade.
Gor wasted no time. His first shot hit the near-human square at the nape of the neck, knocking him back into the hallway, but his second shot was deflected by the Twi’lek’s laser sword. The Twi’lek looked up at Gor through the slats of the duct, smiling maliciously, and then began to approach him, slowly.
The way Gor saw it, intimidation tactic or no, he wasn’t going to waste this Twi’lek’s deliberate casualness trembling. He fired again, only to have the blast deflected once more. The second shot, however, found its target, sort of. The blast landed hard on the hilt of the Twi’lek’s laser sword, and to Gor’s amazement, shattered it, disrupting the laser and the infernal hum.
Any celebration would be short-lived however, as the Twi’lek’s shock gave way to a narrowed, seething glare. In a fluid motion, the Twi’lek waved his arm across his body, and somehow ripped the grate from the edge of the wall, sending it flying, bent and broken, to the other side of the room. Gor fumbled with the trigger of his blaster, his hands oozing moisture as the Twi’lek’s other hand gestured broadly toward him and Gor found himself propelled from the duct and towards the large man with the vibro-blade. Gor’s head met the man’s elbow, sending shock waves of pain throughout his cranium and disrupting what coherent thought Gor might have been forming towards the goal of escape. Still stunned, he felt himself lifted by the back of his jacket, and when his eyes opened, blurry from the blow and the brightness of the room, he made out the shape of the Twi’lek’s head, framed by his two tentacles.
“Goodspeed… and the Wookiee. Where are they?” the Twi’lek purred. His cadence was low, and although he spoke softly, he did not mumble.

“Nobba dooda dey oona das bangua,” Gor sputtered through the blood-soaked corners of his mouth. “Ib dee doona das Capttayn dey bangua.”

“This ship appears to be going through name changes and captains at an alarming rate. Regardless, this remains Goodspeed’s ship, no?”

“Far Zarnar.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the term.”

“Das bangua goondo dey Far Zarnar. Eebo Ithor.”

“Well, that narrows it down, given Goodspeed’s crew," the Twi'lek muttered, his tone reeking of sarcasm. "We have established that you are the captain, and that Zarnar the Ithorian owns the ship. This still does not answer my question. Where is Goodspeed, and his flea-ridden companion?”
“Nobba dooda dey…”

“This will not do. Set him down.”
Gor felt the grip on his jacket released. He came down hard on his left ankle, and crumpled to the floor, rolling in pain. As he grasped the injured tendon and rolled onto his back, an object slammed into his shoulder with a sickening squish. Gor groaned half-knowingly as he looked down on the severed head of Jerry, his once vibrant green epidermis now a sickly greenish white, the fine serrations along the edges of his neck a perfect compliment to the large man’s vibrating machete, which glistened as the man set his enormous rubber-soled boot down on Gor’s chest.
“Let’s try this again,” the Twi’lek cooed, his fanged mouth inches from Gor’s eye, “and we’ll see if we can come up with an answer that allows you to keep your life. We know that Goodspeed and the Wookiee are not here, Capttayn. I want to know where they are, and where they are headed. And you’re going to tell me, or you’ll be-headed there, too.

The pun, of course, is definitely intended.”

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Ahab Inc.

We have incorporated privately under my name. The company's name is Ahab Inc. Our ship's name was also changed from the Lachme to the Pequod. All this was with the aid of a very bribe-able aqualish named Zavorkus who works on Coruscant. Zavorkus gave us the name of a fellow Aqualish on Correlia who could help us get a "special" arrangement with the Correlian National Bank.

Dish finally returned from the Jedi temple with two Jedi in tow; an Ithorian and a Wookie. The Wookie seems to be a Jedi of some note. Dish informs us (without consulting us) that these Jedi will be escorted to Gilead by us. Our Wookie agreed (again without consulting me, the owner, or Jacob, the captain). We decided to take a few detours first.

First we headed to Correllia, where we met with Zavorkus's friend Bangulor. Bangulor helped us make a "special" arrangement with the Correllian National Bank, and recommended a ship dealer named Gygax (a verpine).

Our plan is to buy a second ship and hire a crew to take care of the previous captain's old trade route, while we establish a route to Gilead. Then we will hire a third ship and crew to handle the new trade with Gilead, while we take care of "odd jobs".

Gygax proved to be a gold mine. He had multiple ships that were highly modified. We purchase one of his ships (on credit) and found a crew. Our furry companion continued to take the lead and issue the orders- making preemptive decisions. This could prove to be a problem. He may see me as just a figurehead; a name for legal documents. Very well. I will allow the fantasy. He should realize that this paperwork is legally binding and he does not have any hard claim to anything, not that I can't take away. We will have to see if an accord can be reached, or if Ahab Inc will no longer require his services at some future date.

Having purchase the new ship and hired the new crew, we headed off towards Ithor. Our Jedi passengers questioned why we were not going straight to Gilead; we explained that we were going to be doing the job the Jedi Council posted, running goods through the Sith blockade around Ithor, on the way to Gilead. Then we arrived in the Ithor System.