Log:Most Worthy Quest
Abandoned by all, leaves Aryn to watch the large Houk with big eyes. She isn't sure she's seen a creature as intimidating or silly. His explanation of eye color, and realization that everyone has left but her, makes her laugh. Bravely stepping into his shadow, the small blonde doctor peers up. "There were more, but they fled the moment you announced you were mighty. It seems none contest it." Aryn raises a hand to shield her eyes from the binary glare so she can see him, and yet his upper half is mainly silhouette for her.
"Ah! Yes, this is a common reaction to Grom's mighty magnificent..ness. Magnificantess? Mighty-nificence? BAH, all know what Grom means!" he declares, abandoning grammar and peering down at Aryn. "Grom supposes that makes you the last champion of this world. CONGRATULATIONS."
"Magnificence, Mr. Grom." Aryn corrects, her tone proper and matter of fact. "I'll admit it was my first reaction to run too, but I have a task to complete here, so running is not an option. If that makes me a Champion, then I bear the title for as long as it suits me."
"Magnificence!" the Houk agrees. "Yes, that sounds right. KING GROM SALUTES YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF WORDS, Little Knower of Words." Tiling his large, toothy head to one side, he wonders, "What is your quest here, little Human?"
"I received a message from a group of friends who have been terrorized by Tusken Raiders. Their little.." Aryn regards him, choosing her words, "..hatchling was harmed during the last attack and they cannot leave until she is stabilized. Medically stabilized. No doctor will answer their call for fear of pending attacks. If their hatchling does not see a doctor soon, she will die."
"Ah! A most worthy quest!" the Houk declares with what is probably intended to be a solemn nod. "Grom does not know why these Sandy Raiders calls themselves Tusks. THEIR FANGS ARE UNIMPRESSIVE AND UNDERSIZED," he informs the entire landing zone, before returning his yellow eyes to Aryn. "Tell Grom where these friends of yours await, Little Knower of Words, and the Mighty Grom will see you there. ALL TUSKLESS RAIDERS WILL FLEE before Grom and his Axe! And his big blaster! And his little blaster.. and his pike. And his boom sphere. And his fists! And-" he'll just keep going.
"If you're to help me, Mighty Grom, then let me tend to your scales first. No need to go into a battle with fresh injury. If you're to face these things, it will be at full strength, sir." Aryn pulls out her medical bag and produces a small scanner to look at the odd, injured scale.
"Hmm? Oh. VERY WELL," Grom agrees to the offer. "Grom had forgotten about that. A small incident with a rancor. GROM WON," he states, a bit defensively.
"That much is apparent, or Grom would not be here. Rancors have big stomachs and like big things to put in them." Aryn fixes his scale, removing the jagged imperfection to allow for another to grow. The protective spray she layers it with seals the wound like a layer of skin, and numbs any pain that might be associated with it. "You are well again, Mighty Grom. Come, I will fly us to this location." She motions to her ship, which had a compartment large enough for the Houk, but a small cockpit.
"VERY WELL," Grom agrees with needless volume, peering at the indicated ship. "Alas that the numbers are not yet done with Grom's Throneship. It would be MUCH MORE MAJESTIC."
The Rainstorm, or the helix lt interceptor, streaked across the sky before diving down. The moisture farm they were arriving at was already experiencing another attack. From the viewports of the ship, they could see a group of banthas staked outside the perimeter and under guard of a pair of scouts. They raised their gaffi sticks above their head at the sudden appearance of the fighter.
"Grom, they're already under attack. I'm setting us down in their main courtyard. They may have the high ground but you can use the ship for cover while you clear the immediate area. We must find my friends and get them to the ship. Fighting Tusken Raiders will remain our second objective, and only when we must. You are the warrior here."
Aryn engages the ramp from the cockpit, allowing bright light from the binary suns in. Dust swirls around the ship as it lowers into the circular courtyard of a moisture farm. An older woman is being thrown to the ground and is almost struck when the gusts of a ship knock both warriors from their feet. They scramble back up as the human female crawls to hide beneath a tool table. Aryn keeps the ship at a healthy hover, giving Grom the high ground for as long as he wishes.
"Grom will be perfectly honest, Little Knower of Words: Grom... is very likely to just chase all the Tuskless Raiders, until they fall into pieces. Grom may have stopped listening after little human said 'fighting tuskless raiders'. With an apologetic shrug, he bounds out of the little ship, roaring, "GROM IS HERE, with his SUPERIOR TUSKS. Now Grom FIRES A WARNING SHOT AT YOUR FACE, puny Tuskless raiders. Grom has been told that he misunderstands warning shots, but THAT IS STUPID. FLEE BEFORE GROM."
Aryn turns to watch Grom leap from the ramp and land out of view. His weapon is heard discharging, but its result leaves Aryn wondering if Grom was taken out when he landed. She always thought of the worst possible scenario. Upon landing however, she sees that this is not the case. He has already claimed first blood, but the other warrior lets out a loud roar and charges at Grom with malice. Aryn screams as she comes out to the ramp, casting her cape back and presenting her hand. Something stops the warrior from hurting Grom, and they are cast backward as if something had plucked them up by their collar and tossed them as casually as one might a bag of trash. The result has a warrior plastered against a nearby wall and sliding down. Aryn is uncertain if it killed them, but she is certain she had just used the force on instinct.
Shots from long rifles whip crack overhead and spark off the protective hull of the Rainstorm. Aryn ducks and moves to a wing. The sandpeople had the high ground now, and two were silhouetting to shoot down at them. The woman hiding beneath the tool table screams. "Lillian.. come to me!" Aryn yells, motioning from the safety of the ship's wing. "Come on!"
Grom's 'warning shot' spreads one Tusken scout's head across a broad swathe of sand. "Grom is the BEST at warning shots! ALL OF YOU ARE NOW WARNED," he roars, cheerfully. Upon seeing the irregular motion and fall of another raider due to some unseen Force, Grom laughs, without explanation. As a shot screams past him, Grom peers at the shooter, and shoulders the colossal A280 (which.. isn't intended to be shoulder-fired) and starts walking toward the raiders on their hill, firing as he rumbles toward them. "NOW GROM WILL WARN YOU AS WELL," he informs the knot of hostile humanoids.
Lillian gets up once she sees the familiar face that is Aryn's. She runs across the small expanse of exposed terrain. Aryn mumbles, "She's not going to make it," as if some unknown sense caused this conclusion. Aryn rushes forward, pushing her body against Lillian's and they both hit the ground just as another ballistic round whip-cracks by, sparking off the armor of the Rainstorm. "Come on, up, up, up!" Aryn pulls Lillian up and pushes her into the ship.
"Grom, there are others! I need to look for them inside."
Without any further explanation, she leaves Grom to defend the courtyard while she runs to the nearest hatch and triggers it open to go inside.
A slugthrower round thuds into the armor above Grom's left arm, bizarrely provoking a booming laugh from the monstrous alien. "Good! Grom had begun to think you were all to cowed by Grom's MAJESTY for a real fight! SHOOT GROM MORE-" Aryn's call and dash are acknowledged cheerfully, "Do not worry, Little Knower of words.. GROM WILL WIN." He fires off another concussive blast, before a communicator beeps in his headpiece. "What is it, Beeping Minion? Speak quickly, your king is upon a noble quest, and is LOCKED IN MIGHTY BATTLE. ....yes, just load them in the large empty area, that will do."
A tusken warrior leaps down from the high ground and lands harshly below. His charge toward Grom is with its fighting club, it screamed as it closed the distance!
Aryn makes it inside and yells. "Jeszi?! Tarlow?!" She moves down the hall, hearing a scuffle in the living area. She sees Tarlow in a battle of strength with a warrior while Jeszi, the injured and bandaged girl cries in the corner. Trying to aid Tarlow, Aryn finds her focus divided and incapable of using the force, so she reaches for the only thing she had at her side.
The distant battle for the high ground- of it can be heard at all inside the house, changes as a warrior rushes Grom, gaffi stick in hand. "AH, so you wish to cross swords with the MIGHTY KING OF FALE? Err.. cross blades, Grom supposes, as neither of us have swords. SO BE IT." The gigantic rifle is slung, and out comes a pitted, scorched, and notched axe...
"Come on!" Aryn screams at the warrior, her hand moving off to one side to press the activation stud on her weapon. Its dull white length extends at once and she brings it to bear, holding it with both hands. Tarlow is tossed aside, still alive, just stunned. The warrior screams at Aryn and charges, raising its gaffi stick to swing at her. Aryn protects herself, but her stance isn't exactly ideal. She may have blocked the blow, but she was knocked aside with ease and sent to tumble over a table.
She shakes her head, feeling something wet and warm touch her neck, but she doesn't have time for it. "Jeszi, get your daddy and go outside to the ship!" Aryn gets back up, reactivating her weapon and putting herself between the pair and this warrior.
"Grom will CHOP OFF ONE OF YOUR LEGS," the Houk declares, before missing and inflicting a hideous injury on the sand. "And then Grom will CHOP OFF YOUR OTHER LEG." He misses again. "Then Grom will THROW YOUR LEGS IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS. That way you can say you stood a thousand steps apart at the same time. YOU ARE WELCOME."
Jeszi rushes to her daddy and pulls his arm to get him to stand up. Just as he's rising, the Tusken Raider goes to swing at Jeszi, the likelihood of which would have killed her had Aryn's lightsaber not caught the crook of his weapon and hold it in place. Jeszi ran away with Tarlow stumbling behind, hand in hand. Aryn pivoted the weapon to the side and shoved her hand forward, emitting a disgustingly powerful wave of unseen energy that plucked the sand warrior from their feet and smashed them against the wall.
Everything that was around and behind the warrior moved as well until it was all flush with the wall. He slumped lifelessly over and Aryn did not wait to see if he was to follow. She deactivated her saber and clipped it back to her belt, brushing her cape back over to conceal it.
Outside, Grom was facing off with one warrior with bodies laying all around. Lillian, from the safety of the ship, motioned for her husband and daughter, screaming over the roar of repulsor jets. Jeszi was swept off her little feet and carried by Tarlow, who avoided the massive Houk to duck inside. Aryn stepped out looking bloody but focused. She began to run to the ship as well. "Grom, kill it and let us be gone from this place." Aryn stepped up the ramp, turning to make sure her mighty companion intended to follow.
Grom's axe finally catches the last raider within reach, and cleaves off one leg amid howls of pain and panic, that are mercifully short-lived. Aryn's call draws the Houk's yellow eyes briefly, along with the answer, "ALMOST DONE. Grom made a royal promise. A GROM-ISE!" As he babbles, the hulking Houk bebds down, picks up the severed leg a HURLS it over the next and dune. An impressive distance, truly. Then he shouts, "GROM WINS," and Groms his way back toward Aryn's waiting ship.
The hatch closes behind the Houk and ballistic rounds spark off the hull noisily. Aryn makes her way up front, finding her seat and pulling the lever to increase their altitude. The fighter craft responds immediately. Once they are high enough, she moves the lever forward, and they shoot off into the distance, leaving only a few raiders who shake their gaffi sticks at the retreating craft and roar.