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Zinis Moraak

WIP "Trust me; I, for one, am actually good at this."

0 · 400 views · located in The Outer Rim

a character in “Star Wars: The Gilded Age”, as played by Wudgeous


❤ Alert: Skim sheet due to in-character disability and his unwillingness to share "irrelevant" information. Expect significant rehaul at some point after the first arc. ❤


The Ghost


Race: "Togruta. Don't tell me I'm the first you've seen, you'll flatter me."

Age: "Oh... How rude. I think this question is rude in your culture. Tsk, tsk." He is at least fifty.

Class: Jedi Knight. "I would have been elevated to Master soon, but I've... developed a sort of condition."

Alignment: He cocks his head and smirks. "As in? Planets can align."



Skin tone: "We come in shades of red, yellow, off-white, and royal rainbow. In high and low opacities."

Facial Features: The contour of his face is something of a softened square. Under dry, unsentimental eyes sits a straight nose and heavy cheekbones, which lends him an appearance far more serious than he actually is. Zinis does his best to smile semi-frequently, but his canines tend to put people off even more, much to his quiet vexation. His eyes are dark, and hold a faint trace of blue.

Hair: "Ah...." His is a hairless race.

Height: "The montrals make this rather unfair, don't they? I would be of average height without them. 5'8" by your measuring standards."

Weight: "Are you hitting on me?"

Body Type: Thick. Zinis has a broad chest and broader shoulders, with hulking arms that look like they could pop open tin cans if he flexed with them nestled under his elbow. His occasional tendency of going shirtless in the hallways either indicates that he works out too much for the well-being of upper body articles of clothing, orrr it betrays a hint of narcissism. Thankfully, he keeps himself covered when actually out and about among the general populace.

Unique Racial Traits: "Several. Montrals--something like ears on humans. Fangs--rumored to be poisonous. Lekku--these keep my neck warm, and their length measure attractiveness." He clears his throat, hiding a prideful grinning under his fist.


"Interested in a little something-something about your old friend Zinis? Hm, well; I do like making friends. I don't necessarily enjoy people--and some races are less tolerable than others--but community spirit is valued where I come from. We don't have to be out for our own well-being all the time, you know, we have enough time to spare for a second body, a second group, a second nation. We have all the time in the universe to both do good and do well.

"... Preaching aside, I'm told I'm frustrating to deal with at times. I admit, I can make it a point to be antagonistic, but mainly in good fun. What are we without cheer? Dull, that's what. I do my best to be conscious of the things I do, the messages I send with every minute action. I'm not perfect at it, but I've yet to meet anyone with mastery of this art..."
He chuckles. "Excluding my master, who came close whenever she wasn't snoring loud enough to shake the entire temple. Bless her heart.

"I enjoy liquidized confections--puddings and soups with bits of thimiar in them. I might sound like the haughtiest thing in the galaxy for confessing as much, so don't tell my peers. Every race has those who are eager to judge. My favorite past times include Limmie and juggling, but the favorite of others is meditation--as it is one of the few times I shut up. Hahahaha. Regardless, a day of both strenuous activity and moments of tranquility would be ideal in my mind."


"I was betrayed and now you're my only hope. What else is there to tell?

"... You are so very keen for a story, aren't you? Did your parents never--....? Sit more comfortably, it will take a while."
He hesitates, organizing events in his head. There is visible movement under his closed eyelids. "As you can see, I appear to be dead. As you might have heard, I am thought to be dead. Before that I was... am a hunter by nature. I am always the first sprint after a mugger in a crowded bazaar, the first to volunteer my hand when someone is lost to the wilderness. I was assigned to missions accordingly, and as I cared not for where they sent me (so long as it was somewhere), I would get the more dangerous locales.

"I visited Kiros (my birthplace) a short while ago and it was as lovely as I remembered (aside from the scuffle we had to clear up); light fauna and natural falling water. Colonies were still located on flat cliffs, and I found time to visit my old home. The new family there greeted me warmly, asked if they would be welcoming my aunt--my late master--as well. I smiled and said nothing.

"It was she and her husband Yalek who insisted I be raised and trained on Shili when they discovered my potential. When I was old enough to walk and form basic sentences, they got their way; though the remainder of my family stayed behind.

"It was wilder on out ancestral home--more jungle, larger beasts. My aunt and uncle, both knights and Shili natives, taught me the traditions and morals I came to value to the present. I'm sure it wouldn't interest you to hear me go on about it, but at its core, it consists of valuing the community and respecting nature. They also reluctantly taught me how to differentiate the poison shrubbery from the feel-good shrubbery, but that will be a tale for another day. My aunt had formally requested permission to take me as her apprentice long before I knew to make building blocks hover and hit playmates I disliked, but it seemed she would not coach me in the ways of the force until I could single-handedly slay an akul--that is, great big beast with great big teeth. It was blatant magic I impulsively yearned for, turning invisible and setting trousers alight with a mere thought; but as I stood over my fallen foe, it dawned on me that her lessons of discipline and physical training that allowed me to wield the power I did. Perhaps it corns corny, but... it was profound at the time. To an extent, I find it profound today. I have even a fraction of the patience she must have had to refrain from giving into my whims.

"I was eighteen then. Almost immediately after, I was sent to Coruscant, where I met E--... where I met a certain pesky woman who put me into this predicament. Estel is her name. I thought her my friend once.

"Skipping ahead at least a decade, she and I stumbled upon something faintly alarming. &&&"

Tldr; Basically, kiddies, this is your spirit guide. He'll be explaining what's up over the course of the roleplay, but here's the jist:
  • His friend tried to off his ass after the pair discovered evidence of Sith activity.
  • He mad cuz he stuck between alive and dead and can't do a damn besides homeostasis and chatting up some whippersnappers.
  • While you guys COULD report this in, shit ain't gon' get done quick enough.
  • What you need to do is prove your valor. Shut down the Sith, become heroes worth listening to, THEN tattletale on that person who fucked up Zinis's day.
  • Oh, and if you could help dig him out of the ground, that would be nice, too.

[color=#808080]THE FORCE


Lightsaber Skills:
Sokan: Mastered. It is highly difficult to match Zinis on uneven terrain, let alone come out with one's dignity in tact. He is aware of every crack, root, and pebble; aware every opportunity for his opponent to falter and stumble. He himself is undeterred by nature's obstacles, able to rush through even the thickest of forests with dangerous precision. He is well-known for (intentionally) embarrassing his spar partners, sometimes before an audience, and numerous jedi have (politely) declined to duel him from this reputation alone.

Force Power:
Force Sense

Far Sight: He refrains from mucking with time (it goes against his ideals, aside from being fairly difficult and unreliable), instead focusing his abilities on covering distance. Should he be undisturbed from his purest state of meditation, Maarok's outer eyes have little to limit them. Of course, he is not omnipotent. He can only view one event at a time, not several simultaneously. In addition, while he can see REALLY FUCKING FAR, he becomes remarkably short-sighted. He's unlikely to sense an ambush more quickly than someone who's physically there.

Telepathy: Combined with the above force skill, Zinis is enabled absolutely free long distance communication. Hoorah. However, he has difficulty maintaining a connection to non-force users should they be a little too far off.


Charisma: Goddamn Excellent. He's a thoughtful man with good enough memory to remember your birthday. He's familiar with a variety of cultures, and can generally knows what would be inappropriate on each planet he visits. He can break up a fight with three words or less. He can find out what you want, what you wish to hear, and he can find a way to give it to you.

Space Geek: Impressive. If he hadn't become a Jedi, he would have taken up a job in geography--exploring, field research, teaching, anything. He adores knowing what's where, and knowing all the universe's distinctive life forms and structures. He's quite the giddy tourist during his travels, really.

Hunter: ...? But he certainly sounds convincing when he says it's his talent.


"Er. Not applicable at the moment."

❤ Alert: Skim sheet due to in-character disability and his unwillingness to share "irrelevant" information. Expect significant rehaul at some point after the first arc. ❤

Until the End - Breaking Benjamin

So begins...

Zinis Moraak's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Zinis Moraak Character Portrait: Rinne Korin Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Gray
Rain. The kind of rain that pours on for days and days covered the expansive underworld of 1313. This was a city so bleak, its walls had never seen sunlight. Deep beneath the reaches of Coruscant lay this abandoned, cluttered, waste of space. It breathed life into the most foul beings on the planet, and here in the depths where they called home, they flourished. Today was about an average day here. The small doctors’ clinic that Rinne stayed entrenched in had been all but abandoned by clientele today… and for good reason. This city didn’t have any way of getting natural rain. If it was raining here, it meant that a pipe had burst somewhere beneath Coruscant. If the denizens of 1313 were lucky, it’d be a recycled water plant. However, more often than not, they were treated to the horrid odor of a sewage mane which had corrupted after decades of neglect. This time appeared to be the latter, as a noxious smell covered the already rotting fumes of the literal junk heap. This rain was now covering the city in something like a fog. The smell that accompanied it had stayed since the rupture happened, three days ago. It was also why four men stayed put inside a small medical clinic.

The clinic was rough, to say the least. A rusty-looking chair sat firmly in the center of the room. Above it hung a light that was missing two of the six bulbs, and looked to have seen better days. The walls had trace amounts of blood on them, and the floors appeared to be covered in a dark residue. Despite all these blatant health-code violations there were a few treasured objects hung about the walls. Limbs. Most of them appeared to be robotic in nature. They were all shapes and sizes, displayed on a wall the way a classic speeder or naked Twi’lek poster would be hung on the wall of a teenaged boy. They were treasure, and each were worth a kings’ ransom down in these depths. Through the clinics’ only window, one could see those who were unlucky enough to have jobs where being outside was required. The city prostitutes were out in full force. Rain would not stop these women. Most of them had outstanding debts to pay off. Even more of them were slaves. A few of the eyes in the room watched them as they meandered about the corner like stray cats. They did their best to stay underneath awnings; a smelly whore would sell about as well as a rank fish. But down here, men would eat just about anything.

A single refrigerator had kept all four occupants fed for three days. Now, there was only idle chatter in the room, these men who had stayed for days were running out of conversation pieces. Almost everything had been exhausted. One particularly loud Rodian was complaining almost incessantly. “At least let us get a couple a’ whores. Even a Twi’lek will do, I just need something” Rabble was starting to form abound two of the three others. It appeared that the group was almost in agreement. All save for one man. “No. Whores don’t have the money to be in my shop, and if they do, it’s to fix the kinds of problems you don’t want to find on your own bodies.” He was a shaggy man. Human from the looks of it. His long tattered hair looked more like the scraggly mane of a feral dog, than that of a man. His voice was calm, and firm, and a large puff of smoke escaped his lips as he spoke; a death-stick clutched firmly in his left hand. The men were getting riled they needed something to escape the fact that they had been trapped in a small box of a room for the last few days. Beer cans were everywhere, other assorted trash littered the ground, shelves, and tables of the office. Never was this place clean, but Rinne could never remember it being so dirty.

Nearest the other men, a Mon Calamari spoke next. His words cut the air like a knife, but his voice seemed the most anxious of the men. “How about a game of Dejarik? We’ve got stuff, we can bet it all.” There was a cringe that shot through Rinne’s face. How he hated that forsaken game. In the parlor, where many of these men had been sleeping, a Dejarik table had been installed many years ago. At the time, Rinne had loved it, but the more he played the more these men wanted to play for keeps. Now, in three days of pure boredom, the stakes would be high. Of course, Rinne would lose. He always lost. He also had the least to bet with. These men, even if they risked it all, would never go after his shop or limbs though. They were simpletons, seeing more use in a blaster or whore than a replacement limb or roof above their heads. Before the game started, a voice appeared in Rinne’s head. The sensation was much like that of a nail getting struck by a hammer. “ Go for it. Bet you'd like to feel like a winner today, don't you, Rinne....? Go all in on the last turn. Trust me.” The game would play into the night. The rain too would stop upon nearing completion of the game. A pack of death-sticks would be almost exhausted by the time the final round appeared…

The Calamari held an expression of anger and fear on his face. The Rodian and human had him cornered. There was only one tactic he could use in such a scenario. “I’m all in, and I raise three grand more!” Raises in Dejarik were not the same as in poker or black-jack. Anyone who wanted to win not only had to gamble a presumed equal amount, but also beat the raise. The person to go last would have to bet something generally perceived as a metric fuck ton of value. Thankfully Rinne was next. Slowly he pushed all of his chips into the center, and then left the table to go to his office desk. Opening a small drawer revealed a picture of a dainty tagruta woman. She was scantily clad. There was a message on the picture sealed with a kiss. “This is Copina. She’s a dancer at the emerald palace. On the back of this picture is her number. I’ll give her a call and set her up for the night with whoever wins… but it’ll be me.” From his pocket, Rinne pulled out a nearly crumpled pack of death sticks. From the metal table, he struck a match and lit one of the last ones. The smoke quickly engulfed much of the table, turning the holograms slightly foggy. Next came the human. He looked displeased that he was actually about to throw into this pot, but it was the only way to keep playing, and to not lose his money. A small key was produced, as the human smashed it down into the table. “I’ll be winning anyways, I’m not even mad.”

The human was one of the only people to leave this city on a regular basis. A smuggler for the Vanguard, one who’d surprisingly done well at it. He piloted a ship known only as the Mantis. A powerful, quick ship that had bested the new council several times. It was a galaxy-class smuggling ship. To bet this would generally mean that the Rodian would be screwed. There was almost no way he could outbet this item, therefor he’d lose. The Rodian was prepared however, from beneath his coat came a small silver object. It was just large enough for his hands, and he handled it with the utmost care. Everyone knew what this was… a saber. Here of all places a lightsaber had found its way. “All bets are in. Play your last move.” There was no voice in his head advising him this time. Rinne played the best move he could. In just 30 seconds his life would change. “All opponents defeated, winner… Rinne Korik.” There was a look of envy, jealousy, hatred, on all of the players. But the items were quickly scooped up by the young twenty-something, who pocketed his new possessions. Whether it was through the force, or through displeasure, all three of the other men would soon leave the shack. Zinis had helped him win that game… but why, and what was with the telepathy?

A month had passed since that game. There were, on occasion, transmissions from Zinis. Sometimes they were simple things, such as fixing an engine to the Mantis, but on this day it was something completely different. The sensation no longer felt like getting hit with a hammer. Now it was more subtle, like a whisper in Rinne’s ear. “Ever heard of Iego? I'd like you to pay it a visit, in exchange for the spoils of that game. You need to leave 1313.”Just like that, transmissions stopped. It was as if Zinis had just popped into Rinne’s head for a spell, and left him with little more than he’d come with. Rinne had never left 1313, though he knew how to fly. This vast underground city housed several skyports. Perhaps now was the day. The ship had been stocked with rations, and the engines had been fixed. It was an interesting task; one that both surprised and drove Rinne, who loved challenges. If anything, this was little more than an excuse to test Rinne’s mettle. The male climbed aboard his ship, and had the vehicle chart a course for Iego. Even though most ships wouldn’t have it in their memories, this was a smuggler vessel. It was made with using shortcuts in mind. It was an odd feeling seeing the expanse that was Coruscant. Never seeing the surface had left the male to dream of what it must look like above. Strangely, it looked little different than 1313, just more colorful. If one listened closely, they could probably hear Rinne’s dreams crashing. Even more strange was seeing space, but for the next week Rinne would get used to it. The only other Transmission Rinne would receive told him to use the lightsaber, just get accustomed to it. And he did, by fixing pipes in the Mantis, or cutting holes to access ports. The ship was junk, there was no better word for it.

In exactly one week, the ship lie adrift amongst a sea of moons and gasses. The giant planet Iego lie before him. From here, Rinne had no clue where to go. He simply steered the ship the way he felt. It was almost like being a puppet. Letting his emotions guide him till his ship steered through wreckage, and finally onto a small moon that appeared to have forest and water. This, as the ship would tell him, was the moon Dathim. Why he was here, or what his purpose here was unknown. Though the moment the ship touched to earth, Rinne felt the presence of Zinis once more “Wait. Um, you arrived faster than I thought you would." The disembodied voice paused, almost as if his message ended there, but then betrayed the notion with a hearty chuckle. "You’re the first here, but expect more in time. You have a bigger role than you think.” This cryptic bullshit again. It wasn’t as if Rinne had much of a life left in 1313, and while the clinic might suffer for him leaving, perhaps the fresh air would be good for a change…

Then it hit.


The ship crashed into the solid earth with a loud thud. Clearly the landing mechanism had been busted by impact, it was obvious to Rinne as his body was hurled through the air and tossed about the cabin. The shock from the impact left the male’s body sprawled out against the corner of the cockpit. Blood trickled from his head, and his left arm might be out of socket. Through blurry, bloody, vision Rinne focused his thoughts on the wounds he could feel. A strange glow emanated from his fingers, and the blood stopped pouring from his head, about the same time his arm was nestled back into socket. Slowly, the man stood. He had a fair bit of weaponry, and some food… it might last him about a week on this planet but with broken landing gear and, God knows what else, wrong with the ship he’d more likely die out in this alien world.

Meandering about the cabin, Rinne pulled the lever that lowered down the exit ramp. Through some exhaust vents in the interior of the ship, black smoke could be seen wafting up. More than likely this was from a turbine, motor, or lift overheating somewhere in the bowls of the ship. Sure, he could fix it, with enough parts and knowhow, but time would be the key to it all. Finally Rinne reached the last step of the gangplank, it was surreal. Never before had Rinne been on an alien world. Never before had he seen anything so beautiful, so foreign. There were trees here as large as skyscrapers. The ground was covered in grass softer than any carpet, and the air was… clean. 1313 couldn’t even begin to compare to this and with the warm glow of gasses around the planet, one would generally assume it was the “daytime” cycle of this planet. But amidst all this vastness, it would be easy to feel alone.

Smoke from the exhaust was now starting to tower over the thick green layer of canopy. It would only be dangerous at night, should there be predators here that’s more than likely the time they’d strike. Iego’s moon was beautiful, whatever this planet was, Rinne might not feel too badly staying here for long.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Zinis Moraak Character Portrait: Jadeling Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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The periodically dull drumming, aside from an intestine full of diligently working droids, was the most notable thing on the LAAT/i hovering in the outer rim. Jadeling had long grown accustomed to hearing the noise in place of sharp rappings of bare fingernails, and even came to prefer it after a time. She ceased drumming only to place her padded palms on a bank of consoles, feigning patience. And she feigned it poorly, seeing as the nearby astromech co-pilot whirred in response--either it meant to reassure her somehow, or it was growing as testy as she was. The pilot droid nearby was not as simple to distract--nothing short of the spacecraft exploding would distract it, she suspected.

Jadeling made it a point not to speak frivolously with artificial intelligence. She saw it as a sign of ailing mental health to pretend clicks and beeps were entire sentences worth of information (at least, when without a translator, as was the current case). However, should she have seen fit to talk to that droid, she would have wondered aloud how much longer their trip was going to take, how far they were from their destination, and whether it would be in poor taste to ask if she could find a more talkative replacement for him--for it. They were nowhere near Coruscant, she knew that much. She was in no hurry to return to the republic. After spending a week bloodying noses and leeching off of hospitality (these normally were kept to separate people, but not always) in the name of the law, Jadeling trekked back up onto the cliffs of the dismal mining planet, where she boarded her assigned ship. Her destination thereafter was not exactly something her crewmembers expected. Instead of a straight path across the expanse of space, she chose one that resembled a snake writhing through cobblestones. This dismayed the droids, as it went against logic, and they were programmed to rather appreciate logic. Yet still they followed orders, as they were also programmed not to take the words of an ARC trooper lightly. Said trooper thereafter sulked in her cabin, writing and sleeping and writing in her sleep, emerging only to peer at the stars and check on their progress.

And so it was that she said nothing to the robot that "spoke" with her, once more retreating to her room. It was a tidy place, hinting at habitation only via unkempt bed sheets and a select number of personal belongings here and there: a case of prized tehk'la blades, a folder of paperwork, and a dartboard hanging next to the bathroom compartment. She had removed her helmet two days ago, and it remained on her desk stalwartly. She could see her face reflected on its dark surface. Spotless. A thing of perfection, however small, gave her comfort.

"Hello there--"

A glint of silver sliced through the air the moment she whirled around, quivering and knocking against the opposite wall it then impaled. Without pause the hand that loosed the blade flew to her hip once more, this time drawing a pistol to hold at arm's length. "I recommend you come out, stowaway," she demanded after a time. "I wouldn't like to kill you."

"Oh, I think I would be dead already if that had got me. Now then, trooper, I suggest you don't waste any blaster shots on me. I mean you no harm."

Curious; she felt a minor migraine throbbing between her eyebrows, which caused her to lower her blaster a fraction. Her guest indeed could do her no harm even if he wished it, and she observed this when he made himself apparent--appearing out of nothing, but not quite materializing into something. Red of skin and large of horns, if she didn't know well enough to recognize his race she would call him an agent of hell. A symbiote of the dead world. It was a shame she didn't know how close her silly thought ventured to reality. 

The Togruta before her had a shivering outline and a faded silhouette, like a recorded message made to-scale. He was no taller than her, but broader. Thick, toned shoulders led up to a thick, toned neck, ending with a square-shaped face. His forehead gave him a look of sternness, but the crinkles around his blue eyes claim otherwise. White markings dotted his entire body--more of which she was seeing than she needed. She couldn't recall ever seeing a user of the force so sparsely dressed, and in such ratty clothes. They looked bloodied, burned, in stark contrast with his apparently healthy body; like he pilfered the clothes off a corpse. "What do you want of me, Jedi?" She inquired carefully. His lack of a presence could be a stupid magic trick meant to catch her off-guard, but Jadeling reassured herself that the ship was of good enough quality that alarms would be blaring should his physical body be elsewhere on her ship. Besides, she still had her hand on her blaster, her head ticking, and her eyes and ears open.

He faintly inhaled through his mouth, one hand over opposite his knuckles in front of his stomach. It was a gesture that suggests to her a familiarity with diplomacy. "I wish to know your business, trooper," he said, then elaborated when she cocked a brow sharply, "what you're doing here."

"There is a reason it is my business," she muttered. However, once she raised her chin to speak with the Jedi, an amicable smile was on her lips. It looked as if it were secured with glue and tape by a prepubescent child attempting collage, as her angled eyes didn't follow suit. "I've a report to hand back to Coruscant concerning my adventures in the outer rim, sir. But I am taking a side trip to see a friend in the area."

The Jedi considered this, adopting a more thoughtful posture than before, if possible. "A fellow trooper?"

"Yessir." There was a pause as the translucent Jedi digested this information. Jadeling refused to face away from him, so she backed away watchfully, reaching back to grab her helmet and slipping it over her face once more. Her tone became even more formal after that. "I hope I have been of use to you."

He flicked his fingers and absentmindedly nodded, but something soon dawned on his features. "Actually, I may seek to divert you from your mission." Her hand flew to her hip, her blaster was abruptly at the ready--the Jedi raised his palms to her as quickly as he could. "No, no--trooper, stand down."

Jadeling flinched, anxiety trickling down her veins, but she could not say why. Emitting a breathy snarl, she switched from offensive to defensive position, bending at the base of her spine as she secured her footing. "State your business, Jedi. Now."

He hesitated again. She hated that. "... I meant, I've a favor to ask of you. In exchange for information on that friend of yours. It might save us both some time." When she seemed unfazed, he continued. His gently shut eyelids gave him a grimness she disliked. "It is one of the troopers who was investigating a suspicious signal around Iego, correct?"

Jadeling straightened gradually. The Jedi knew what he was talking about after all. He knew where she was headed and why, and while that in itself made her wary, it formed a bridge she could not ignore.

Some droids were baffled by their next objective; on the moon of Iego, shipwrecks lined its surface like toppings on a Hutt dish. It would have been intimidating and discomforting, were they not top-of-the-line in each their respective generations. So, landing on the moon with the hobby of obliterating spacecrafts was a simple thing, albeit tiresome and seemingly inane. Thankfully, they wouldn't have to do even that. Their data stated that the planet is uncivilized and uninhabited, but their commanding trooper insisted that they would be met with hostility if they failed to take utmost precaution in their approach.

They will launch the smallest shuttle containing the only breathing thing on the ship, and pick her up once her business is done. That would be the most they could provide. Jadeling knew that the majority of droids on the ship were created for general maintenance--classes two and five. There were a handful of security droids on board as well, but to take them onto land would leave the ship severely lacking in defense. Besides, security droids were not built to fight an army. While some droids are able to operate the ship's big guns, that would do only menial damage and easily leaves them open for attack. 

At the risk of sounding incredibly generic, the trooper announced over the loudspeakers: "Activate sensor jammer."

"I fear I've gotten someone in a spot of trouble," the Togruta Jedi had said, as she inspected the damage she'd done to her wall. "I'd appreciate if you could, you know, rescue the damsel in distress. At the very least, he's causing sufficient distraction just by being down in the den of wolves."

Thruster usage was minimal. Power normally directed to shields was redirected to stealth. There was a fair amount of turmoil when the ship drew as close to the planet as it would get, and even further turmoil in the escape pod. She waited until she was precariously close to the ground before releasing the parachute. The sudden bloom of camouflage green still managed to catch onto some branches, but she was used to that. The Togruta had sent her to a decent spot. Trees were lower, she merely dropped out of the pod and suffered minimal strain upon meeting the ground.

And then Jadeling marched over to a tree and threw the fuck up.

"You read me?" she rasped after replacing her helmet. Her legs shivered like wriggling jelly, and her mouth still tasted of partial digestion. There was, unforgivingly, static on the other end, but she could make out acknowledgement in the form of infernal beeping. That would be good enough. "Stand-by. No, wait. Send off the messenger droid with the reports I'd written. Both sets of reports; confirmed slavery and suspected Sith activity. Set his course to Coruscant. Then you may stand-by. Oh, but have someone make me something to eat before I get back. Anything's fine. Alright. Don't blow up the ship, kids."

Suddenly having an organism to talk to amidst a week-long space trip had spoiled her, and she grimaced at how longwinded those orders were. She muted the static then, and inspected her surroundings. Who knows how long it would take the droid to reach Coruscant, and how long it would take for the council to take action after that? The trooper sighed through her nostrils. The blaster over her shoulder made it difficult to maneuver, but her senses were sharp enough to grant her a level of comfort. That Zinis guy must have swept the area this time, as there was no one here. Unless it was a trap. Ugh.

Regardless, the Togruta cryptically said she wouldn't be alone for long. Jadeling felt the chaingun warming in her hands as she adjusted its levels, and she began to move. The things she did for friendship.