Post by Max Liao (Callandryn) on Aug 31, 2003 0:41:45 GMT -5
LoM members, feel free to add to this story.
“Is it over?” General Callandryn dis’Vestrial, Commander of the Legion of Myth asked an Imperial officer.
“Yes.” The officer answered hastily who then waved his arm dismissively towards Callandryn. “There’s nothing more to see here, mercenary. Move along, this is now a restricted area.”
“I’m no mercenary!” Callandryn snapped back while pointing at his Legion of Myth patch. Taking a moment to compose himself he continued, “What about the injured?”
“Look, you have done a great service for the Empire. Now continue to serve and move along.” Turning away the Officer continued, “Or I’ll have you moved by force.”
Some gratitude for saving your cowardly ass. Though he dearly wanted to, Callandryn thought better of saying the words out loud; he knew that the more cowardly the officer, the more backbiting the officer and that was something the Legion of Myth leader wanted no part of. You win some, you lose some. Callandryn could only chuckle as he envisioned the fate of this antagonistic officer should he ever be confronted by an angry Moff – or better yet, an angry Vader.
Turning he holstered his weapon and wandered toward some relaxation.
As he entered the cantina Callandryn removed his sweat soaked helmet. Sand and wet falling to the floor while the scent of war - and armor in much need of cleaning - wafted around. How much longer can this go on, the General thought to himself. These Rebel terrorists have to know that they are defeated. Wiping his hand through his hair he smiled knowing of the Galactic Empire’s inevitable victory. I just hope that my people are alive to see it.
Turning back to the door Callandryn took off his boots and emptied them of grit and sand outside. Tired muscles did not prevent him from looking up into the blackness of space as he sighed, Aye, I surely do miss you, Myth. One day I hope to return. He paused as if he was awaiting an answer - or a miracle - to give him hope. Abruptly the door slid shut with a loud ‘clang’ as if an ominous answer to his desire.
Slowly he put his boots back on and walked to the nearest table within view of the dancers and musicians. Tonight was dead. There was only one musician tooting poorly as he stared at what Callandryn could only guess was some handwritten tablature. Smiling, Callandryn tipped the youngster a modest sum of credits, “Just do your best son, and don’t stop. One day I bet you’ll be leading your own troupe.” Wide-eyed the boy accepted the money.
After finding a place to be seated, a sultry waitress strutted over to Callandryn, “What’s your flavor?”
“Bothan Leafwine, please.” Callandryn paused as he considered his order, “in a tall glass.”
“Don’t get many here who can afford such a drink.” A smile leapt on to the waitresses face as she imagined the tip she’d likely receive.
“Celebrating life, m’lady. I ask only for a tall glass, and to be as undisturbed as one can be sitting here.”
She fed him the standard issue plastic smile, “As you wish.” Then scurried off to retrieve his order.
The quiet melodies of the cantina combined with the low roar of constant conversation were very calming when compared to the blasters and explosions of the war with the Rebel terrorists. The odor of perfumed waitresses, alcohol, and war tainted patrons combined into a cacophony of smells that was almost hypnotic in its diverse splendor.
Setting the drink before him the waitress leaned over and put her hand on his thigh whispering, “Paying now or should I start a running tab?” With the last word she moved her hand inward and squeezed his leg - leaving no subtle hint as to where an open tab would lead.
“Here’s one-hundred and fifty credits.” He pulled out the cash and paused to look her in the eye. “Undisturbed.” He said as a sharp reminder. Satisfied with the credits the waitress simply shrugged and moved along to her next potential customer.
Sipping the wine and watching other patrons come and go, Callandryn gave in to relaxation and began to daydream of Myth and the times to come after the war. Green trees, a wife, children, and most of all the security and safety of the Empire to keep those things he desired protected. He imagined a city ... no, a world ... given to the Legion of Myth by the Empire for their outstanding support and undying loyalty. While he could only hope that people like the cowardly officer would either be dead or groveling for food like a street urchin. No more battles, no more war, no more ... GRENADE!
Not fully comprehending why, instinct took over Callandryn's actions. Instantly he tipped over the table, spilling his drink and helmet to the floor, and ducked down behind it while drawing his weapon. Screams replaced the simple music as bodies hastened all around. Before he even had a chance to survey the situation a deafening boom filled his mind and shockwaves rippled through the table and his body.
For what seemed an eternity, the world around him erupted into a bright flash then red-tinged haze. Mere seconds later, ears still ringing, blaster fire could be seen coming from the entryway. An Imperial stormtrooper, picking himself up from the initial grenade blast - which removed his helmet for him - was instantly hit squarely in the head. Blood and gray matter sprayed out the back of his skull as he slumped back to the floor.
From the back Callandryn could see three figures with blasters gunning down another stormtrooper. Shit, I’m cut off. Peeking around the table to the front Callandryn saw three more there. Six-to-one odds, this can’t be good. Contemplating what to do next, Callandryn was awarded a bit more time as the bartender began firing towards the front door. The portly man was gunned down in short order, but it was enough to divert their attention and allow Callandryn access to his communicator.
“Come in ... come in!” He whispered emphatically into the communication device. “Colonel Kodoss ... Kedryn ... anyone. Come in! This is General Callandryn, I’m in the Mos Espa cantina and I’m pinned down by six gunmen. Come in ... come in ...” Blaster bolts splintered what was left of the table that Callandryn was using for cover. Without thinking, the General ran and dove behind the serving counter - not realizing that he had dropped his communicator in the move. Blaster fire chased him as he dashed, shattering glass and pock marking furnature and walls alike.
“Kill him!” Callandryn heard one of the attackers say. “No one lives!” With that he could hear boot steps closing in on him ...
EDIT - I keep finding little mistakes.
