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This is the place to post stories you have written about your character's timeskip. What they got up to in the five years between the fall of the Gav Daragon and the rise of the Empress Teta.

TOPIC: The Timeskip Tomes

The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 4 months ago #15556

  • Emrys
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The following Tomes and included chapters will disclose what Emrys's Timeskip Story will be. However, I'll "reserve" the space below for upcoming story posts!

Here's a little taste of what's coming

Timeskip Tome 1:

Chapter I: “Dead Air”

Chapter II: “No Signal”

Chapter III: “Static”



Timeskip Tome 2:

Chapter IV: “A New Empire”

Chapter V: “A Lost Cause”

Chapter VI: “Die Hard”



Timeskip Tome 3:

Chapter VII: “Rebirth of the Immortal”

Chapter VIII: “Through Jungles Deep”

Chapter IX: “The Network”

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 4 months ago #15649

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Chapter I: “Dead Air”


One.
“Dad? Daddy, come play”

Darkness in his mind. A darkness which hugged a void of deeper unhappiness. Anger flashed red in his Zabraki eyes. He picked himself up from his stupor and headed towards the frozen caricature of a being near him.


Two.
“What’s wrong dad?”

Heavy steps in the mire of existence. Echoing soft as if on snow. His fingers hug an object nearby. Rough sharp edges bite into his hand. He lifts it up and brings it down. Over and over again, until there are no more tears running down the figure’s face. Through the man’s soul.


Three.
“What did I do wrong? Dad! I’m sorry!”


The object falls from his hand, blood drying already in the cold air of what he now calls home. He shuffles backwards, kneeling to the ground. His head drops forward, as he considers what he has done. He silenced the anger brewing within. The incessant whispers in his own mind. The drive pushing him off the edge. Every single time. An empty shell is now curling up in the corner as he himself folds inwards like a dying star.



Exhale.

Emrys stands, broken, in the midst of the frozen planet, lost to the galaxy. Yet, after the darkness always comes dawn. Always. He takes his helmet off, the frozen breeze playing upon his dark, heavily scarred face. He looks up to the sky, to where his previous life, somewhere out there, for all he knows, is now dead. He looks forward, towards the horizon and the distant, rising sun. His lips part, and he whispers:

“I forgive you, dad”

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
Last Edit: 1 year 3 months ago by Emrys.
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 4 months ago #15676

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Chapter II: “No Signal”

The swirling, lazy vortexes of snowflakes stirred from their earthly slumber with every heavy, booted step. It had been half a night, or day, on this planet. Light from a distant cold sun shone on one end, and an endless darkness on the other. The sky was seemingly split in two, just like the escape pod a few hundred meters back which now overflowed with the encroaching icy snow.

Weary eyes looked up towards the sun, and then to the midpoint of shade between that and darkness, marking the split in the distant horizon. Using the landmass as a guide, Emrys had deduced that the planet was not rotating, which probably accounted for its icy countenace. He continued onwards, his breathing heavy. The air was thinner, oxygen wasn’t as abundant as usual. To top it off, the gravity was more than double what he was used to. He quietly thanked his training for giving him at least a slim chance of survival.



Keeping the shadowy hemisphere to his right and the cold light to his left he walked in the shade, hoping for any sign of civilization. He took it slow, but steady, a solitary figure treading the line between light and dark, life and death.

Rationing took priority and thought. What he carried was meant to feed four escapees in the pod, but a lot of it was lost during the crash landing. His rest was few and far between, fearing that he would go into hypothermic shock while sleeping and drift to death without realizing it.

But the worst times were when the winds hit. They always came from the shadowy part of the planet, a weird and dangerous phenomenon. They bore within them icy shards picked up from whatever lay within the umbral ice desert to his right. There were enough times when weary, heavy, breathless as he was, he came close to losing consciousness and drifting away. This was a different kind of fight for survival as the one on a battlefield. This was against nature, and nature is always stronger. Yet he pressed on, mindlessly, thoughts blanked by the constant unchanging colours of his path. Days passed without any contact. His comms were ruined during the crash, so even if a ship flew past, he could not raise them.

Time rolled on, and on. Blurry vision, even the joints of his armour were cracking due to the constant exposure to cold temperatures. He could feel his lips peel off from thirst, and his cheeks gaunt with malnutrition. He felt the burn on his skin and the patch of hair from the radiation the planet received from its neighboring star. Every single “day”,his body became more bent, his willpower which once flowed like a river, now frozen, all but a trickle.

With heavy breath he fell to his knees.

He dug his fingers in the hard snow, nodding to himself, content at the simplicity of his new grave. “This will do”, he thought.

He looked up one last time, down the long line where shadow and light met.


And there he saw it. Another escape pod...

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
Last Edit: 1 year 3 months ago by Emrys.
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 4 months ago #15691

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Chapter III: “Static”

Metal already frozen to its core groaned and creaked as the gauntleted, trembling hands of the Marine pulled apart at its seams. The darkness within contained four frozen bodies, their faces the lifeless picture that haunts each soldier’s dream. He took a moment to glance at them, his lips pursing under his helmet. Quietly, with all remaining strength in his body he pulled them out and laid them by the pod. Instinct of survival fueled the adrenaline pumping through his hearts as he rummaged around the metal coffin for supplies. Most rations had not survived the trip and reentry, but one thing did. The most important part of the pod remained intact, somehow.

With a heavy thud he finished pulling out the comms unit installed in the back of the pod’s small terminal. Settling in the metallic teardrop to protect himself from the elements, he switched it on with a silent prayer. Crickles and crackles filled the silence of his makeshift shelter as the comms unit reached out to the heavens for a helping hand. He broadcast the emergency signal and set the beacon to activate.

Days passed. He still lay there in the half-buried pod, his heartbeats slowing down with each passing moment, as the cold set itself deep in his flesh and stripped away at his sanity. Small stalactites hung from his armour, once humidity now turned into ice. His suit’s life support system groaned under the effort of trying to squeeze as much oxygen as it could from the frozen, thin atmosphere. Motionless, alone and lost. Defeated.

Static trickled in like a small morsel of heaven, waking him from his death-dealing slumber as hope once more rekindled amongst the icy, man-made tomb he rested in. Static that slowly turned into words as his fingers slowly, wearily tuned into the frequency.

He could hear the ping of communications, the responsive voice addressing his beacon. Emrys tried to speak, yet no voice allowed itself from his chapped lips. The knife wound he sustained from his fight with the Zakuul commander, and the days of silence and cold had frozen his vocal cords into a deathly croak.He feared that his lack of response would mean that even this meteoric ray of salvation would pass by. His mind slipped into the primordial bottomless pit of hallucination.

Hours passed. The adrenaline he had from the static now dripped its last into the well of despair. He could almost feel Death, his old friend, his comrade, approaching. He could almost hear Death talk in strange otherworldly voices. He could sense him moving outside the pod, his robe floating in the cold air, his scythe scraping against the doorway. He welcomed him. He awaited him. And Death appeared through the cold rays of twilight that spilled from the opened, mangled metal.


And his face was that of a Zakuul soldier.

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
Last Edit: 1 year 3 months ago by Emrys.
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 4 months ago #15725

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Chapter IV: “A New Empire”

The ship creaked ominously as the whir of life support filled the silence within the prison cell. Tons upon tons of polished, dark, hardened durasteel made for an austere, almost decontaminated environment. Tall, sleek walls and heavy barred gates made for a large, warehouse-like container of souls. The ray shields buzzed in humming red, low light around the cages which held Republic and Imperial soldiers, or other various people trapped therein. There was complete silence. No prisoner, as rowdy or as brave as they could have been in their previous life, spoke to anyone in anything more than a whisper. Most spoke to themselves, their nails having lost the grip to sanity long ago. The gate mechanisms whirred heavily, as the Zakuulan soldiers brought forth the newest arrival.

Two months had passed since Emrys had been picked up from the frozen tomb which was destined to be his grave. Or was it three? Four maybe? Grueling months of torture, physical, psychological, mental. Whippings, images of the Gav exploding. Images of live executions of fellow captured soldiers. All of this fanfare, all of this effort to break him. The bright lights, the hot flashes and the cold, starving nights in solitary, all of it gnawed at his mind like rats fleeing a fire, trying to chew and scrape through bone and flesh.

Time dripped past. In space unknown, the prison ship sailed, its living cargo suffering in silence, and its newly dead cargo tossed unceremoniously out of the nearest airlock into space, to remain there, a sign of what mindless war and fanaticism does.

Yet with time, comes change.

Those once sleek, tall, ominous and perfectly constructed prison walls had, ultimately, acquired microcracks. Those heavy gates moved less speedily. Those hushed, crazed whispers now spoke in sense to one another, emanating from the center of the room, outwards, like ripples, each jail cell a link in a coiled chain within the Zakuul Empire’s prison ship.

It happened quickly, one night. It was not loud, it was not magnificent. It was downright violent. There was no time for cheers or jeers of success, as the ray shields dropped at the same time, their power sabotaged by a single, sliced mouse droid. As the prisoners, as the living experiments sprang up, and the chain uncoiled, striking the slowly-closing gate. As the blood of Zakuul and prisoner alike stained the cracked, imposing walls of imprisonment. As deck upon deck, in muffled, dead surrender, gave way to the throng of freedom.

The tables had turned.

Among them stood a Zabrak, still tall. Unbroken. His scarred face and body accentuated by the unfaded black tattoos of his ja’to and the Orbital Drop Marine Corps. In his hands he held a shiv still dripping with Zakuulan blood and a durasteel pipe, bent in an awkward angle where it had smashed in the face of a droid. He stood before the locked-down bridge gates, as the other prisoners looked to his call for action. He looked around them all, eye to eye, all these people, seeking revenge, seeking freedom. He had it, after more than a year of imprisonment. He finally had it. It was made of blood and anguish, but it was his.

His New Empire.

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
Last Edit: 1 year 3 months ago by Emrys.
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 3 months ago #15742

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Chapter V: “A Lost Cause”

The prison ship drifted in space unknown.
Bodies were strewn over the consoles of the bridge.

The orange-suits of prisoners filled the place. Each of them, according to their past abilities and position filled a place in the prison ship. They were Republic, they were Imperial, they were everything and anything else, some races unknown to all, stemming from deep within Wild Space. But all of them had a singular purpose, all had acquired it after seeing that the Bridge officers had managed to send out a distress call.

The Zakuul were coming.

And so the darkness of space filled with the appearing enemy vessels, who formed an impenetrable grid, a net of death, facing the gothic-looking prison ship.

The plans were laid out days before, strategically. Everyone knew what they would do, if this occurrence took place. This was plan B, and it had already been thought through, during all those months of preparation for escape.

The prison ship’s engines roared to life, heading straight for the grid. Flying forth like a spear trying to penetrate the veil of doom. It had little armament to defend itself, but was well armoured. It would hopefully survive a frontal assault and perhaps make it out of the other side.

Thousands of miles gave way as the ship sailed straight into the now oncoming barrage of Zakuul ion blasts. It was clear they did not want to destroy their own ship, but it was also quite apparent that they did not want to lose it either. Energy flashed across the vessel’s massive body as the miles were swallowed up in seconds. The enemy fleet looked even bigger from up close. Massive. The closer their vessel got, and the more ionic damage it took, the bigger the picture lay ahead of the Zabrak’s eyes, who now stood upon the bridge, awestruck at the view.



Before them lay the biggest fleet he had ever seen.

He had been on Dromund Kaas, he had been on Imperial and Republic Shipyards both. He had seen the Sacking. He remembered it well. He had partaken in massive fleet battles.

But this. This was different. This was… otherworldly. This was of a different scale.

And as the ion blasts finally shut down the systems of the ship, as the escaped prisoners were plunged into darkness and the engines whined to a halt right before the massive net, Emrys looked at the grandeur of the Zakuul fleet.

And he realized, that this... this was a lost cause.

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
Last Edit: 1 year 3 months ago by Emrys.
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 2 months ago #15879

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Chapter VI: “Die Hard”

A power pack clips snuggly into its magazine well.

A bolt cocks back and ironsights rest on the head of a Zakuul soldier who opens a door carefully.

Take a deep breath…

...breathe out. Here we go...


A shot rings out and the Zakuul drops to the floor. It is immediately answered by the racket of returning blue blaster fire which absolutely riddles the air vent on the ceiling. A few meters back, the vent gives way and the weight of a big figure crashes to the floor.

Crashes? No. Lands. On one knee and aiming, the dark-skinned, horned prisoner takes aim and drops another two soldiers and a droid, green eyes blazing as brightly as the bolts of plasma, a grin painted on his sharp, scarred features. He feels right at home.

The shields are called in, blue lightspears grazing the top of the ceiling.

Let’s do what the farmer did and get the flock out.

He springs up and runs down the corridor. The door slides open and more Zakuul appear, immediately firing, catching him in a crossfire. He dives down a smaller side door. As it slides open, his arm instinctively springs up and catches an ambushing enemy in a headlock, spinning him on the spot and using him as a human shield against three oncoming bolts that would have hit home. With a crick and a crack of the Zakuul’s neck the scarred prisoner shoots the door’s control panel, immediately forcing it to lock down.

Take a right...

As he runs past corridors, dodging patrols, he can hear the sounds of fighting as other prisoners are trying to survive the onslaught of the boarding enemies on the prison dreadnought. This is a lost battle but as long as he’s alive, his war ain’t over.

then a left…

One shielded Zakuul guards the corridor. His lightspear glows ominously blue. He calls for backup. Time is short. The prisoner charges. The lightspear points forward, shield raised. It’s a roll of the dice. It’s a risk the Zabrak has to take.

Hells!..

The lightspear grazes his side, carving a rib wound as the big man dodges at the last moment, finding himself crashing against the shield in a huttball-style takedown. The guy might be Zakuul, he might be holding a big-ass shield, but he ain’t a member of the fuckin’ ODMC. Both bodies end up in a hard crash against the wall. The prisoner wraps his blaster arm around the shield and pulls himself in to avoid being cut by the lightspear. He presses the barrel against the Zakuul’s waist and pulls the trigger four times.

Smoky...

He stands up and steps over the enemy soldier.

then down the trash chute...

He slides down a stinker of a chute, and ends up knee-deep in waste smelling awfully similar like the scent of prisoner chow. He wades through a sewer’s worth of refuse and climbs up a couple of stairs, opening the emergency access hatch.

...and then out to the hangar.

He peeks from the floor grate and spots a couple of guards and a -lot- of dead prisoners who tried to make a hurried dash out as the Zakuul came on board. Unwise. He takes careful aim at one’s head, popping his goddamn brains out. The other looks around in panic for a few moments, not knowing where the shot came from, that is… right before he falls to the floor, smoke coming out of his left eye socket.

The Zabrak sprints to the closest zakuul fighter. He’ll need to be nimble and quick if he wants to make it. He hops in and looks around, trying to make sense of the advanced technology.

Fuck it.

He punches the throttle as his hatch closes and barrels through a few crates standing in the way, before he pops out in the emptiness of space. He can see the enemy fleet from here. Yeah...No chance. Time to go.

Streaks of hyperspace blue.

Safety, and the unknown, ahead.

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
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The Timeskip Tomes 1 year 1 month ago #16070

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Chapter VII: “Rebirth of the Immortal”

Dear non-diary. I stand here, in front of the ship’s mirror, talking to you like a veritable castaway. Am I losing my mind? My sanity?
It’s been more than a year since I’ve been chased by the fuckin’ Zakuulan authorities. One could say it’s been a year since I’ve slept. I can see the weariness on my face. All I’ve been doing is working out and making short stops at various pirate outposts smaller than my thumb to fill up on shitty, overpriced supplies. These “four walls” of this spaceship are starting to close in on me, and this time I’m fighting for my life in another sense. One that is more dangerous than the physical. My mental capacity seems to fluctuate between logic and dreamscape.

Always on the run, with Zakuulan interceptors finding and then losing me. I don’t know how long I can keep doing this. I can’t even begin to get near Republic space, near Coruscant, or the Navy. I’m just lost between Wild Space and the Outer Rim. I’ve heard that the Republic has fallen. I wonder if it’s true…

Another day or night, whatever it might be for people back in the Corusca Sector, I’m just sitting here, feeling like one of those proto-sailors that used to roam the seas of the unknown on planets long before space travel was invented. Is this what they thought to themselves too, while the wind took them to nothingness? Just emptiness and void ahead, with just a glimmer of survival? How did they claw themselves back to the edges of sanity after staring at the same, damned thing every passing moment. For them it was the blue-green of the seas, for me it’s the endless, vast empty darkness of space. Every night I lay on the bunk bed after my workout and I ponder if the life I once knew is over. Now I truly understand what refugees, simple people without the means to defend themselves against a greater power must feel like. This empty feeling that you’re at the mercy of destiny… I just don’t like it. I want to make my own destiny, even if it means it’s one where I keep talking to myself in the mirror, with a recorder turned on nearby to make sure my words aren’t wasted oxygen.


Body hurts. My cybernetics, they need upkeep. I need hydration. This ship’s atmo is just too goddamn dry now. Filters must be fucked up. I think I’m going to seek out a permanent base out of harm’s way soon.


It’s time to do...to fuckin’ do “something”. I’m gonna break free from this self-imposed prison of loneliness and weakness. I’m going to stand up and start paying the galaxy back again for the things I’ve done.

Found a planet nearby .I think I’m gonna go check it out. I don’t know what it is. The astrogation maps are a bit fucked up in these here parts of space.

Feet first, bitches.

A crown of thorns, a verdant stare. Pride and failure, equally, lining skin. Beating heart of gear and rust. Even still, a hero's soul contained within. - Margo Faulkner
Last Edit: 1 year 1 month ago by Emrys.
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