Post by Proteuz on Sept 3, 2019 18:31:26 GMT -5
Stardate 209.46
Thick smoke lay stagnant in the air of what could be best described as a makeshift triage room. The room itself was quite small and cramped, dimly lit. Onix struggled to sit up on the dilapidated cot tucked against the wall. His head was pounding with intense pain as he raised his gaze to the doorway. A rugged looking dark-skinned man stood there. He wore a luxurious purple jacket with canary yellow frills over a white formal shirt tucked into a pair of purple dress pants. "We were not sure you were going to make it." The man said as he approached Onix.
The man continued, "My name is Trey al'Shain and I must say, you are clearly a talented man." pausing to retrieve a metallic canister from inside his jacket. He pulled out two spice tobics, made from finely crushed spice crystals rolled in a synthetic leaf. Trey lit his tobic and handed Onix the second and a matchbox. "High-grade spice. It will help you recover from your wounds." Onix's entire body ached but the worst was his eye. It was puzzling how something no longer there could cause such searing pain, and yet it did.
"I have an offer for you Onix Damian. I would like to sponsor the foundation of your star trader charter." Onix's head immediately flooded in questions. Operating a charter is an opportunity of a life time, more accurately many lifetimes. Surely this Trey al'Shain has conditions, nothing is free. "You must be asking yourself, why? Why would I bestow this gift to a stranger? Wise question to ask... and yet, does it matter? Operating a charter can mean riches beyond belief in capable measured hands. I think that you know this already."
Onix sat silently, measuring the man that stood before him. Another wave of searing pain where his eye used to be. "Why me? There were dozens of combatants in the pit fighting tournament and no other that won their match and yet looked like the loser by the end." Trey puffed his tobic exhaling a sweet heavy plume of smoke before he responded.
"Mr. Damian, no other combatant beat who you beat. The man who took your eye, was a 303 washout. To even be considered for the 303 is a testament to ones physical prowess. The man you killed was expected to win this tournament and he was snuffed out by a name no one knows. Not only that but that was after he stuck his thumb into your skull. You have proven yourself to be more than proficient with your blade, durable and efficient. To put it simply, I have work for a man of your skills. You will be compensated with credits along the way and you will help me mold this quadrant in my vision. Now should I call you Mr. Damian or Captain Damian?"
Onix puffed his tobic as he listened, though he had to hide a cough when Trey said the man was a 303 washout. Had he been a full fledged 303 operative surely things would have ended differently, and yet things are as they are now. Onix rose to his feet fighting his equilibrium and the pain in his body. "You may call me Captain."
Thick smoke lay stagnant in the air of what could be best described as a makeshift triage room. The room itself was quite small and cramped, dimly lit. Onix struggled to sit up on the dilapidated cot tucked against the wall. His head was pounding with intense pain as he raised his gaze to the doorway. A rugged looking dark-skinned man stood there. He wore a luxurious purple jacket with canary yellow frills over a white formal shirt tucked into a pair of purple dress pants. "We were not sure you were going to make it." The man said as he approached Onix.
The man continued, "My name is Trey al'Shain and I must say, you are clearly a talented man." pausing to retrieve a metallic canister from inside his jacket. He pulled out two spice tobics, made from finely crushed spice crystals rolled in a synthetic leaf. Trey lit his tobic and handed Onix the second and a matchbox. "High-grade spice. It will help you recover from your wounds." Onix's entire body ached but the worst was his eye. It was puzzling how something no longer there could cause such searing pain, and yet it did.
"I have an offer for you Onix Damian. I would like to sponsor the foundation of your star trader charter." Onix's head immediately flooded in questions. Operating a charter is an opportunity of a life time, more accurately many lifetimes. Surely this Trey al'Shain has conditions, nothing is free. "You must be asking yourself, why? Why would I bestow this gift to a stranger? Wise question to ask... and yet, does it matter? Operating a charter can mean riches beyond belief in capable measured hands. I think that you know this already."
Onix sat silently, measuring the man that stood before him. Another wave of searing pain where his eye used to be. "Why me? There were dozens of combatants in the pit fighting tournament and no other that won their match and yet looked like the loser by the end." Trey puffed his tobic exhaling a sweet heavy plume of smoke before he responded.
"Mr. Damian, no other combatant beat who you beat. The man who took your eye, was a 303 washout. To even be considered for the 303 is a testament to ones physical prowess. The man you killed was expected to win this tournament and he was snuffed out by a name no one knows. Not only that but that was after he stuck his thumb into your skull. You have proven yourself to be more than proficient with your blade, durable and efficient. To put it simply, I have work for a man of your skills. You will be compensated with credits along the way and you will help me mold this quadrant in my vision. Now should I call you Mr. Damian or Captain Damian?"
Onix puffed his tobic as he listened, though he had to hide a cough when Trey said the man was a 303 washout. Had he been a full fledged 303 operative surely things would have ended differently, and yet things are as they are now. Onix rose to his feet fighting his equilibrium and the pain in his body. "You may call me Captain."