The Talons assembled as required and with minimal fanfare boarded the shuttle and headed out.  Few seemed to notice as the shuttle flew away from the Indifatigable.  The deck crew was minimal, no patrols escorted them out, not even a word of luck from the controllers assigning them their exit corridor.  It was like the Black Talons were just a passing group of drifters.

The stars quickly stretched into infinity as Nirro who was acting as co-pilot for the journey pulled the hyperspace levers.  Allen relaxed in the pilot seat, his role in the control of the craft finished for now.  The journey would only take a few hours.

In the back, the various Talons went through equipment checks, talked amongst themselves or tried to sleep.  The commander sat in the rear cabin with Zyra as they discussed what they might find.

After what seemed only a moment, Nirro announced they were preparing to exit hyperspace.  Everyone strapped in and soon they reverted into normal space.

The scene around their target planet was chaotic at best.  There was limited attempts to control the space traffic so the scene was chaotic.  Freighters cut each other constantly and constantly 'shield rubbed' to try andd bully other ships out of position as they all waited for their turn to land.

As Allen effortlessly maneuvered the shuttle through the larger ships, Zyra took up a seat in the cockpit and began a long conversation with 'space traffic control'.  Her tone constantly changed and throughout the process and her bartering was so skillful, Allen and Nirro would have gladly purchased beachfront accommodation on Hoth from her had she suggested it.  However the controller was evidently skilled and the bartering went on for some time.

Finally Zyra returned to the main cabin.  "I have secured us a docking bay in the Western Province as you requested.  Its going to cost us more than we hoped but its as private and secure as we hope for."

Allen received his approach vector and steered the ship down to their assigned landing bay.  Whilst it fitted the shuttle it wasn't suited to aything much larger.  Zyra could be heard snorting about being charged 'freighter rates'.

As soon as the shuttle was landed the group moved off to check their base of operations.  A wave of a blaster scattered the squatters and the hustlers trying to sell everything from companionship to spice to curs for all ails.

The hanger was serviceable though not comfortable.  There was a passenger entrance as well as a mechanic entrance.  The locks were old and looked to have been sliced regularly.  There was a lounge/office which held a table, several chairs and a half-dozen bunks.  There was a data terminal which offered various mechanical upgrades and services (for a hefty fee) as well as public information and a bulletin board with various news articles and job offers.

The Talons were now on-mission and it was time to stow gear and make plans.


OOC:  Welcome dirtside Talons.  All of your requisition orders were approved (excluding where you were messaged differently).  Added to which there is an X-45 sniper rifle as the commander promised.

The layout is a standard docking bay as per the Galactic Campaign Guide.  For those who do not have access to the book I will endeavour to upload it when I have a mo (off to work soon!)

'Mark' was dressed in simple trousers, white shirt and leather jacket.  Otherwise he'd done little to change his appearance.  A deathstick hung out the corner of his mouth though he assured everyone that these were actually a harmless 'lookalike'.  He wore a pair of blasters in twin holsters under his armpits.  A vibroblade was sticking out the top of a boot.  He had the classic look of a mercenary 'wannabe', or some Special-forces dropout with an overinflated ego and a bad case of stereotyping.

"Okay everyone.  From now on its first name basis unless we are on strike then its callsigns.  We need to stow our gear then get started.  We need to have people on guard in the hanger at all times.  I will be here most of the time co-ordinating activities."

"Now you all know what we need.  Jamie, I need you to take a team to assess threats and targets of opportunities.  Assess the spaceport, any likely munition dumps and such.  I want to know whats here and what we can likely take or destroy.  Make sure Devon is your team."

"Cyril, I need you to assess the populace as a whole but especially the pirates.  How is their morale?  Where are their weak points?  Where can we find allies and manipulate enemies?  Search the cantinas and anywhere else you deem fit."

"Zyra has her own mission to complete.  Tania will help me service the shuttle and fortify our defences.  The rest of you join either Cyril or Jamie's team.  I want groups no smaller than three.  Going out there solo is asking for trouble."

Cyril was dressed rather plainly, with his leather jacket just overlaying whatever it could of the padded flight suit. However, his stance was different; if he was carefree and eager back at base, here he was the epitome of rigidness. He stood ever at attention, with a posture befitting that of a nobleman or an officer. There could be no mistaking his intentions, however, with the way the sheath of his vibroblade and the holster of his blaster dangled from his belt. His green eyes looked ever forward, as if looking at something just beyond the next horizon, and they showed no emotion whatsoever... except, perhaps, the lack of it.

Cyril listened to the Commander's orders. He merely nodded as their leader gave out their assignments, and betrayed no surprise at being given complete command of his own team.

"Exilim, Koruusk, you're with me," Cyril said in a firm tone that would rival the Commander's. It was a cold order, plain and simple, and not the enthusiastic suggestion they would have expected from him not too long ago. "If anyone else thinks they'll be more useful with my team, speak up now."

Without waiting for any responses, Cyril lectures to the entire squadron. "Let me make it clear that, until we accomplish what we have set out to do, we are all members of a mercenary group that calls itself the Crusaders. Unless you are talking to a specific member of your team, or we are on a strike mission, I expect you to refer to yourself, to the others, and to the team only by that word. I know I cannot punish you if you fail to do this, but rest assured, this place will make you pay for that mistake, should you commit it."

"Is that understood, Crusaders?" he asked them, looking straight at every person's eyes - even the Commander's.

Xil had his blaster rifle out during the Commander's informative speech, performing his preventative maintenance, checks and services.  After he finishes he pulls out a fresh power pack and inserts it smoothly into the proper recepticle in the rifle.  The Commander finishes and Xil replies, "Roger that."

Cyril starts talking, and Xil unsheathes his knife and wipes the blade with a slightly oiled rag.  Cyril finishes talking, Xil replies, still paying attention to the blade.  "I got you, Cyril."  He resheathes the blade...

Upon arrival Koruusk followed everyones example and rechecked his gear, stowing it by his chosen bunk. He stood firmly at attention as Commander Sheppard spoke but as soon as the speech was over he took to fitting his disguise and his weapons. First he sheathed his new vibrodaggers at his hips, tucking them under a fold in the padded flight suit which he had spent some time enroute crumpling and flattening out to give it a worn look. Next he fixed the hip holster for the blaster everyone was issued and holstered it as well. Opposing the hip holster he clipped the sheath for the vibroblade everyone was issued to his belt and sheathed it, letting it go so it could swing freely at his side. His Ryyk blades proved somewhat more of a challenge. He had sheathes for them but they were meant to be clipped to the belt. He had to fashion an underarm harness to strap them to so they wouldn't swing loosely. Then he strapped the long sheathe for the vibrosword he'd requisitioned to his back and tugged to make sure it was firm. Once all of that was secure he threw on his fur poncho as Cyril spoke. Tiliting his head up only a pinch to show he was paying attention, he slid the long vibro weapon into it's sheathe beneath the poncho, it's prominently long grip sticking up behind his head to show off it's intimidating presence. Finally he double checked the strap for his bowcaster and slung it over his shoulder, letting the weapon rest at his side ready to be grabbed and aimed at a seconds notice. His illusion of a hardened Trandoshan slaver turned bodyguard for profit was complete. Now he just had to act the part.

"Yes bossss!" Koruusk snarled with a heavy tone of menace in response to Cyril.

He would not only look like a heartless vindictive killer, he would sound like one. Where his voice had been awkward and hesitant before they arrived, now it was harsh and dark. From now on in this mission when he spoke it would convey the presence of a brutal mercenary who didn't hesitate to put down someone who crossed him or his employer. When he spoke while they were on mission now, anyone who listened would know he was not someone to take lightly!

"Aye, Cyril," Jamie said as he looked around at the 'Crusaders' once more.  He arranged the assigned blaster to hang in its holster just below the right hip, and secured the vibroblade in his left boot.  He quickly stowed his clothing and explosives.
"Devon, you're with me; I need at least one more volunteer."
He ran a hand through his messy purple hair and then tried to smooth it down a bit without covering his tattoo.

Nirro disembarked from the ship weariing loose fitting black pants and an open black vest. his blaster was placed on his hip and his datapad securely stowed in one of his many pockets. What a dump he thought as he looked around the hanger but he knew the idea was to pose as mercs and most mercs would not be used to much better than this. Looks like home he said as he exited the ship Except home never did look this pretty. He went to one side and took a seat while waiting for his assignment.

Allen stowed his gear and then stepped off the ship wearing his worn and greasy coveralls, with his vibroblade and blaster secured out of the way at the back of his hips, and his tool kit hanging on the front, looking every bit the merc mechanic.

Looking around, he mentally slaps himself.  "I knew I was forgetting something!  Well, I'll just have to do without a datapad."

Christian, a blaster pistol at his hip and the vibrodagger at his back, looked at the spaceport.  His dress was casual, with brown breeches, a white shirt and a old looking vest.  His boots were well worn but clean.

Christians stance was nothing like his atire.  His air of military is obvious, but there is now a hard edge in his looks and eyes..like a man haunted by a past.  Something well suited in a mercenary camp.

Christian looks around, and at the offer from Jamie, speaks up.  "I'll go with you..it'll give me a chance to scope the arms around the place, and who has them."

Christian's eyes were alert, scanning the area.

Dumping his gear on his bunk, Devon began sorting through, inspecting and stowing his gear.  A compact and apparantly specialized toolkit was popped open and Devon grinned at the contents, apparantly pleased with what he saw.

Devon nodded to Jamie and hurried to finish getting his gear stowed.  After a minute of hurried activity, he joined Jamie; his assigned blaster-pistol holstered at his left hip and the vibro-dagger sheathed at the small of his back, also positioned for a left-handed draw.  A toolkit was stuffed into a duffelbag along with a few other odds and ends and those nearby also saw him slip some sort of baton or club into an inside pocket of his padded flightsuit.
Slinging the duffelbag over one shoulder, Devon picked up and examined the blaster-carbine he'd been issued, decided it was probably over-kill for their first 'recon' and returned it to its case.

Whereas Christian had opted to play a soldier turned merc, Devon had apparantly taken the opposite route - a street tough who'd moved 'up' in the world to mercenary.  Tough well worn combat boots, a battered and much patched padded flightsuit, his normally blonde spikey hair dyed black and given a pseudo-military buzz cut.

As Devon ambled over, he was pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves that appeared to have had something solid sewn into the knuckles.  Devon flexed his fingers a few times, then cracked his knuckles impressivily - combined with his general appearance, the knuckle-crack gave any observer a clear impression that this shaven-headed merc was someone you didnt want to get into a fistfight with.

'Got into a speeder crash a few years back, been able to do that ever since...' he explained to Jamie as he flexed his fingers again.

Ashlyn had spiked his eyebrows straight up with gel and dyed them red.  Some red dye streaks in his hair added to the odd change in look.  An old worn leather vest that had been patched in a few places hung down to his knees.  It contained several pockets both inside and out.  Several of the pockets were filled with oddities.  His roughed up flight suit visible beneath matched some well worn old boots that may have come from some dead spacer.  The vibro dagger and blaster pistol were attached to left and right hip as appropriate.  A discarded piece of metal was strapped to his right forearm and had 6 marks carved into it with the dagger.  He also had a couple of knife scars added by the ships doctor.  He chewed something that gave a constant smacking sound as he worked it through with saliva.

His own blaster rifle would be stowed here for now.  If everything went according to plan, he could return, change out and move into position to support a Talons assault.  The rifle would only weigh him down until then.  They were just here for info first.

Ashlyn met Cyril's look and smiled back, chewing the whole time.  "Call me Ash.  I'll help ya Crusader."

The commander began to grow impatient and his glare fell upon Jamie and Cyril.  "Gentlemen if people are not going to volunteer then they need to be assigned.  If you two can't manage it then I shall have to do so.  Allen, you will join Cyril.  Nirro your skills will better suit Jamie's group."

"Keep your comms open unless they will cause an issue.  Say nothing on the comm that might be sensitive.  Whilst these are military-grade commlinks a skilled slicer could crack them given time."

He looks around at the assembled group and lets his firm demeanour slip slightly.  "You've all done well so far.  You've all had a lot to assimilate in a short time.  We're flying blind here in many ways and I want you all to keep your eyes open.  Watch your six and those of your team.  Good luck."

Okay all.  I have posted the map of the docking bay with the shuttle.  I am now preparing two seperate threads (one for each group).  Please post to your respective threads.