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Snippet #2703510

located in Old Republic, a part of Wrong Star War, one of the many universes on RPG.

Old Republic



Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kiersha Asso Character Portrait: Senator Thames Nuruodo Character Portrait: Bennjin Dorr Character Portrait: Myra Haren Character Portrait: Irwin Fel
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“… Did I ever tell you about the First Order scout who had been sent to ambush me?”

“Yes,” A patient Alliance staff flatly stated.

“How about how I got the blaster scars on my body?”

“Yes…” The patience was running quite thin.

“Or the-“

“Don’t you have a mission briefing to go to?”

“By the Force! You’re right! I’ll tell you a good story later!”

The Alliance staff member Bennjin had been talking to did not plan to hold his breath, but he was immensely thankful he had paid attention to the scout’s transfer orders. The man sighed in relief as Bennjin Dorr hurriedly left the barracks.

The Scout was in a full sprint as he made his way to the Command Centre. His short hair blew back in the wind and momentum. As he approached where he was supposed to be, he spotted another member of the squad entering the building. Good, he wasn’t too late.

Bennjin Dorr entered the briefing room, beads of sweat had formed from the run, and he was panting rather lightly.

Now was the time for professionalism. Bennjin kept his mouth shut throughout the briefing. However, he did smirk at Myra’s particular commentary. Out on his older missions, Bennjin never had many people to talk to. Now that he was part of a squad, he no longer felt quite alone- at least in the corporeal sense. He always knew the Force was around him, and that kept him smiling despite isolation. However, the Force was not exactly one for banter like back in the mines.

At least, the Force had no banter for everyone except for those who could hear it. Bennjin did not particularly like Kiersha- the Jedi that had been assigned to the squad. He had always held an image in his mind as to what a Jedi should be. This younger woman seemed to be the antithesis for every aspect he had idealized. The only thing going for her was a particularly cool lightsaber.

His idealistic opinions aside, orders were orders. None had the heart to defy a figure as warm and strong as General Organa. Despite Bennjin’s somewhat exceptional mission performance, he had always preferred leaving higher command to those who could wield it as well as Bennjin could a sniper rifle.

Bennjin was knocked awake on the first sign of the wormhole pulling on their ship. He had taken to napping in the lower level in the U-wing gunship. A man like him was not particularly useful aboard a ship unless he was given a specific task to do, but after the rumbling began, he suspected he soon would.

His orders were to assist the ship to escape the unyielding pull, but he couldn’t even make it to his station before the ship gave in, and was sent into free-fall into the wormhole. Bennjin tumbled around the relatively cramped seating area for soldiers. He thrust his arms around his head to stabilize his neck, and tucked his legs in. The Sniper bounced on the ground, bounced again on the wall. Despite his efforts to avoid it, he blacked out.


Bennjin lay at the far back of the hangar bar of the Starbird. Feeling groggy, Bennjin struggled to go through the steps of his survivalist’s training. He flexed each finger on his hand, then his toes, then up to his wrists and ankles. Then his legs and arms, then his chest, and his neck. He felt every muscle and tendon pull naturally.

There was no sharp pain associated with broken bones. “I thank the Force,” Bennjin whispered low, like a quick prayer. He was relieved that his injuries only extended as far as bruising. In reality, it was more his suit that saved him. Like most soldier’s suits, Bennjin’s light plating and build-in splint-like rods that reduced the force of impact (and subsequent injury) from large objects, or from nasty tumbles.

A loud clang made Bennjin stand up, on-alert. He had heard the smuggler, Myra, curse aloud from somewhere on the upper floor. down the corridor- likely where most of the squad were. Bennjin gripped a hand over one of the seating bars to keep himself upright in the wake of continued rumbling. As he moved, he stopped nearby the ladder leading up to the upper level, and peered through a tiny window to his right.

Countless ships hovered in orbit around a planet Bennjin couldn’t identify for the life of him. It appeared that they were locked in a huge conflict. “Looks like the Outer Rim’s got plenty of support they could give,” Bennjin noted aloud, a relatively new practice. The words felt awkward coming out of his mouth, since usually these observations were kept to himself. Before the squad, he was the only pair of ears who would hear them. “I don’t recognize any of those ships.”

The majority of the present ships were oddly familiar. They lacked the rather iconic bridge and twin shield generators on the stern, but the triangular hull was unmistakable. “Seems they looted a lot of Imperial ships.” Bennjin’s right hand brought up his binoculars for a closer look, while his left hand gripped at a hand hold to keep himself stable. Something seemed off, though. If these ships were scavenged like his observations led him to believe, why did they all look the same? Perhaps the most interesting, yet puzzling aspect, was that the ships looked pristine, and unmarked. They were military ships without any custom paint jobs on the hull.

He had identified all he felt he needed to. For now, they were absolutely being shot at, judging by the rumbling of cannonfire striking and whizzing by their ship. Bennjin Dorr slipped the binoculars back into their carrying case, and called up the ladder proper. “What are your orders, sir?” He called to his commanding officer.