Takeover of Servacos, Celanon, and Circumtore
Servacos
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
The air around him was getting colder, and the angle of descent was growing steeper. He picked up his lagging feet, and pushed himself to keep moving.
The sound of thundering footfalls echoed from somewhere behind him, out of sight, but getting louder.
Despite the cooling temperature, the sweat was pouring down his face, soaking the top of his expensive robe. The long garment was nothing but a hindrance now, the long hemline constricting his strides and threatening to trip him at any moment. He considered pausing to rip it, but he knew that if he stopped he might not be able to make himself start running again. His breathing was already becoming labored, and he could feel a twinge in his calf that signaled a cramp was developing. Years of luxury and excess had atrophied a once well conditioned physique, and the man found himself cursing every high priced glass of wine and gourmet meal.
An exclamatory cry and a snarled curse caused the man to risk a look over his shoulder. At the edge of his vision he saw the outline of several large, indistinct figures. Adrenaline, a by product of his fear, jolted his system, and he increased his pace. The figures dropped out of view, cut off by the tunnel's low ceiling and the sharp angle at which it dropped into the earth.
His mind began racing. He wished desperately that the tunnel would fork, or at least bend- anything that might help him through off his pursuers. Unfortunately, the mine tunnel continued straight as an arrow as far as he could see. He reached up to the small pocket of his tunic, groping to ensure that the small hold-out blaster he had stuffed into was still there. The move was done more for his own reassurance than to actually check, as his loping motion kept the weapon jostling uncomfortably against his heaving chest.
He craned his neck backwards for another look... and his robe betrayed him. He dropped his foot too quickly, and landed on the trim of the robe, sending him cascading forward.
He landed hard, and heard a sick crunch as he reflexively tried to catch himself. Pain jolted up his right arm, a fiery, searing sensation that seemed to overshadow all other sensory perception. He let out an inhuman cry that combined his pain with his anger and despair. The sound reverberated off the polish stone surface of the shaft, echoing lowly for a few seconds after it was uttered.
The sound continued... no... it was replaced by another- a lower, steadier tone. The sound of boots pounding stone. He reached for his weapon, which sent another devastating jolt of pain up his arm. Cursing, he grabbed the weapon with his left, and awkwardly hefted it, the barrel pointed in the direction of his pursuers.
The sound of voices began to be heard over the drone of running feet, and the man couldn't keep the barrel of his weapon steady. A moment later, the visage of the figures, that much more intimidating because he was viewing them from the ground, entered his line of sight.
He squeezed the trigger on the hold-out blaster. Nothing happened. Stunned, he let the weapon fall from his hand.
Moments later one of the figures stood over him.
"Please..."
He knew how pathetic he must have sounded, because the man seemed to hesitate for a moment. Suddenly another figure appeared. With no warning he lashed out, striking with both his hands and feet.
The pain was indescribable.
After what seemed like an entreaty the beating ceased. The beating ceased, but the pain endured. The men started talking, but the words they said didn't make sense. Why couldn't he understand them? They were speaking Basic!!! He tried to speak... but the river of blood that flowed from the roof of his mouth choked him. A slight gurgle was all he could manage.
Then it was like the sun burnt away the fog from his mind, and he could understand what the figures were saying.
"...elanon. Mr. At..."
"Don't say his name you kriffing idiot!!"
He tried to move, to crawl, anything to escape his fate. It couldn't be over!! IT COULDN'T!!!
"He's trying to move."
"Kill him."
"Pluez.. pluah"
He tried to form a plea, but his motor skills failed him.
Then, with one swift blow, it was over.
Celanon
The shift had been killing him all night.
Disgusted, Ralnor folded, his promising negative hand ruined by another improbably unlucky shift. This was at least the fifth time he had been ready to rake in a massive pot when one of the shifts turned a winning hand into garbage. That was, however, the supposed appeal of "Pavo Premium" sabacc. A variation (one of hundreds) that had been developed for use in one of Belgardi Ltd's casino on Pavo Prime, the game added an extra element of risk that was appealing to high rollers and big time gamblers.
In most versions of sabacc cards placed into the interference zone were safe from a shift. They couldn't be discarded, but their values were protected. Normally players could only lock in one card per round. In Pavo Premium, however, players could place up to two cards in the zone. As in all sabacc, at the end of each round a small device determined whether or not there would be a shift. A flashing light went back and forth between red and blue- red meant shift, blue signaled no change. The odds of either light showing up were fifty-fifty. In Pavo Premium however, there was a third color- green. Although the probability of the green light was much lower (it happened only about 1/20th of the time) when it did occur the change was dramatic. Every card in the players hand shifted (as opposed to only one, when the red light showed up) and all cards in the interference field were discarded. Coupled with the fact that Pavo Premium stipulated that there was no limit on the sabacc pot (the money paid in penalties when a player "bombed out") created wildly unpredictable matches that were both highly entertaining and very risky.
As the game was relatively new, strategies for winning big at Pavo Premium were particularly numerous. Ralnor had avoided the interference field all night, acting upon the advice of a smuggler who had recently completed one of his gun-running contracts and had smashed Ralnor and several of his lieutenants in the modified Bespin Standard version (one of the more prevalent forms played across the galaxy). The man had raved about how exciting Pavo Premium was, having competed in an invitational tournament recently hosted by Belgardi as a way to promote the game. So far, the strategy had led to disaster.
He'd won several hands when other players had been caught by the "superswitch" and left with virtually nothing, raking in a small mountain of chips. Unfortunately, the normal shifting that occurred much more frequently had plagued him (since he refused to protect any of his cards in the interference field), and he had given away most of those winnings due to plain dumb luck.
"It's just not your night." Remarked a well-dressed human who came up with 19, a winning hand compared to Ralnor's 4. The man smiled sheepishly- three of his four cards were locked into the interference field, and he knew from the way Ralnor was betting that he would have lost, had a shift not occurred at the end of the last round. Ralnor's Evil One, a face card worth positive fifteen, had transformed into a useless three of flasks.
Ralnor chose not to respond. Instead he flagged down a wandering waiter and ordered another drink. That was one thing Ralnor liked about Celanon City's newest casino "Prime Paradise." True, Belgardi got a bit repetitive with their continual wordplay references to Pavo Prime, but the service was excellent, and they made instant gratification as easy as possible. Plus, it attracted a lot of off-worlders who were usually turned off by the establishments that catered to Celanites.
The next hand went equally poorly. Ralnor bombed out as a Nalroni across the table from him came up with 17 on the second round. His penalty pushed the sabacc pot up higher- it was now reaching astronomical proportions. Getting that pot was hard in any type of sabacc... but in Pavo Premium it was damn near impossible. If the game ended without anyone winning it, the casino scooped up a tidy profit.
The dealing droid fired out another hand. The commander of sabers and the Mistress of coins. Twenty-five, a bomb-out. Every instinct Ralnor had said fold, but he pushed his ante in. A couple other players did the same. The indicator light came up blue. No change. The Celanite across the table pushed his two cards into the interference field, then bet heavily. The well dressed human matched the bet, but everyone else dropped out. Ralnor tapped the table, thinking. He drew a card, and glancing at it matched the bet. He'd picked up the Queen of Air and Darkness, a face card that was of no suit. The Queen was negative, and dropped his total two to 23, pure sabacc, if his luck would hold. Ralnor eyed the indicator light, as it became a blur of red and blue.
Red... blue... red... blue... red... green.
The light stopped. The Celanite let out a groan. The superswitch left him holding no cards, as his only two had been in the interference field. His large bet was almost surely wasted. The well dressed human had only placed one card in the field, so he retained one. Ralnor peered at the man, wondering what he was holding. His own hand had changed dramatically, his face cards replaced with a set of coins that totaled 13. Not great, in most circumstances, but considering that he was up against only one card, it was probably enough to win.
"Coming up."
Ralnor flipped his trio over. The Celanite sighed in disgust. The human smiled. He flipped over his card: the Master of Flasks. The Master was a ranked card worth 14. In a series of swift motions, the human swept the small mountain of chips to his side of the table.
At that moment, a Celanite walked over to Ralnor and whispered something into his ear. Ralnor looked up at the messenger, then back toward the table. Inexplicably he smiled.
"Gentleman, if you'll excuse me, my luck has just changed."
He scooped up his remaining chips and left the table.
Servacos
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
The air around him was getting colder, and the angle of descent was growing steeper. He picked up his lagging feet, and pushed himself to keep moving.
The sound of thundering footfalls echoed from somewhere behind him, out of sight, but getting louder.
Despite the cooling temperature, the sweat was pouring down his face, soaking the top of his expensive robe. The long garment was nothing but a hindrance now, the long hemline constricting his strides and threatening to trip him at any moment. He considered pausing to rip it, but he knew that if he stopped he might not be able to make himself start running again. His breathing was already becoming labored, and he could feel a twinge in his calf that signaled a cramp was developing. Years of luxury and excess had atrophied a once well conditioned physique, and the man found himself cursing every high priced glass of wine and gourmet meal.
An exclamatory cry and a snarled curse caused the man to risk a look over his shoulder. At the edge of his vision he saw the outline of several large, indistinct figures. Adrenaline, a by product of his fear, jolted his system, and he increased his pace. The figures dropped out of view, cut off by the tunnel's low ceiling and the sharp angle at which it dropped into the earth.
His mind began racing. He wished desperately that the tunnel would fork, or at least bend- anything that might help him through off his pursuers. Unfortunately, the mine tunnel continued straight as an arrow as far as he could see. He reached up to the small pocket of his tunic, groping to ensure that the small hold-out blaster he had stuffed into was still there. The move was done more for his own reassurance than to actually check, as his loping motion kept the weapon jostling uncomfortably against his heaving chest.
He craned his neck backwards for another look... and his robe betrayed him. He dropped his foot too quickly, and landed on the trim of the robe, sending him cascading forward.
He landed hard, and heard a sick crunch as he reflexively tried to catch himself. Pain jolted up his right arm, a fiery, searing sensation that seemed to overshadow all other sensory perception. He let out an inhuman cry that combined his pain with his anger and despair. The sound reverberated off the polish stone surface of the shaft, echoing lowly for a few seconds after it was uttered.
The sound continued... no... it was replaced by another- a lower, steadier tone. The sound of boots pounding stone. He reached for his weapon, which sent another devastating jolt of pain up his arm. Cursing, he grabbed the weapon with his left, and awkwardly hefted it, the barrel pointed in the direction of his pursuers.
The sound of voices began to be heard over the drone of running feet, and the man couldn't keep the barrel of his weapon steady. A moment later, the visage of the figures, that much more intimidating because he was viewing them from the ground, entered his line of sight.
He squeezed the trigger on the hold-out blaster. Nothing happened. Stunned, he let the weapon fall from his hand.
Moments later one of the figures stood over him.
"Please..."
He knew how pathetic he must have sounded, because the man seemed to hesitate for a moment. Suddenly another figure appeared. With no warning he lashed out, striking with both his hands and feet.
The pain was indescribable.
After what seemed like an entreaty the beating ceased. The beating ceased, but the pain endured. The men started talking, but the words they said didn't make sense. Why couldn't he understand them? They were speaking Basic!!! He tried to speak... but the river of blood that flowed from the roof of his mouth choked him. A slight gurgle was all he could manage.
Then it was like the sun burnt away the fog from his mind, and he could understand what the figures were saying.
"...elanon. Mr. At..."
"Don't say his name you kriffing idiot!!"
He tried to move, to crawl, anything to escape his fate. It couldn't be over!! IT COULDN'T!!!
"He's trying to move."
"Kill him."
"Pluez.. pluah"
He tried to form a plea, but his motor skills failed him.
Then, with one swift blow, it was over.
***
Celanon
The shift had been killing him all night.
Disgusted, Ralnor folded, his promising negative hand ruined by another improbably unlucky shift. This was at least the fifth time he had been ready to rake in a massive pot when one of the shifts turned a winning hand into garbage. That was, however, the supposed appeal of "Pavo Premium" sabacc. A variation (one of hundreds) that had been developed for use in one of Belgardi Ltd's casino on Pavo Prime, the game added an extra element of risk that was appealing to high rollers and big time gamblers.
In most versions of sabacc cards placed into the interference zone were safe from a shift. They couldn't be discarded, but their values were protected. Normally players could only lock in one card per round. In Pavo Premium, however, players could place up to two cards in the zone. As in all sabacc, at the end of each round a small device determined whether or not there would be a shift. A flashing light went back and forth between red and blue- red meant shift, blue signaled no change. The odds of either light showing up were fifty-fifty. In Pavo Premium however, there was a third color- green. Although the probability of the green light was much lower (it happened only about 1/20th of the time) when it did occur the change was dramatic. Every card in the players hand shifted (as opposed to only one, when the red light showed up) and all cards in the interference field were discarded. Coupled with the fact that Pavo Premium stipulated that there was no limit on the sabacc pot (the money paid in penalties when a player "bombed out") created wildly unpredictable matches that were both highly entertaining and very risky.
As the game was relatively new, strategies for winning big at Pavo Premium were particularly numerous. Ralnor had avoided the interference field all night, acting upon the advice of a smuggler who had recently completed one of his gun-running contracts and had smashed Ralnor and several of his lieutenants in the modified Bespin Standard version (one of the more prevalent forms played across the galaxy). The man had raved about how exciting Pavo Premium was, having competed in an invitational tournament recently hosted by Belgardi as a way to promote the game. So far, the strategy had led to disaster.
He'd won several hands when other players had been caught by the "superswitch" and left with virtually nothing, raking in a small mountain of chips. Unfortunately, the normal shifting that occurred much more frequently had plagued him (since he refused to protect any of his cards in the interference field), and he had given away most of those winnings due to plain dumb luck.
"It's just not your night." Remarked a well-dressed human who came up with 19, a winning hand compared to Ralnor's 4. The man smiled sheepishly- three of his four cards were locked into the interference field, and he knew from the way Ralnor was betting that he would have lost, had a shift not occurred at the end of the last round. Ralnor's Evil One, a face card worth positive fifteen, had transformed into a useless three of flasks.
Ralnor chose not to respond. Instead he flagged down a wandering waiter and ordered another drink. That was one thing Ralnor liked about Celanon City's newest casino "Prime Paradise." True, Belgardi got a bit repetitive with their continual wordplay references to Pavo Prime, but the service was excellent, and they made instant gratification as easy as possible. Plus, it attracted a lot of off-worlders who were usually turned off by the establishments that catered to Celanites.
The next hand went equally poorly. Ralnor bombed out as a Nalroni across the table from him came up with 17 on the second round. His penalty pushed the sabacc pot up higher- it was now reaching astronomical proportions. Getting that pot was hard in any type of sabacc... but in Pavo Premium it was damn near impossible. If the game ended without anyone winning it, the casino scooped up a tidy profit.
The dealing droid fired out another hand. The commander of sabers and the Mistress of coins. Twenty-five, a bomb-out. Every instinct Ralnor had said fold, but he pushed his ante in. A couple other players did the same. The indicator light came up blue. No change. The Celanite across the table pushed his two cards into the interference field, then bet heavily. The well dressed human matched the bet, but everyone else dropped out. Ralnor tapped the table, thinking. He drew a card, and glancing at it matched the bet. He'd picked up the Queen of Air and Darkness, a face card that was of no suit. The Queen was negative, and dropped his total two to 23, pure sabacc, if his luck would hold. Ralnor eyed the indicator light, as it became a blur of red and blue.
Red... blue... red... blue... red... green.
The light stopped. The Celanite let out a groan. The superswitch left him holding no cards, as his only two had been in the interference field. His large bet was almost surely wasted. The well dressed human had only placed one card in the field, so he retained one. Ralnor peered at the man, wondering what he was holding. His own hand had changed dramatically, his face cards replaced with a set of coins that totaled 13. Not great, in most circumstances, but considering that he was up against only one card, it was probably enough to win.
"Coming up."
Ralnor flipped his trio over. The Celanite sighed in disgust. The human smiled. He flipped over his card: the Master of Flasks. The Master was a ranked card worth 14. In a series of swift motions, the human swept the small mountain of chips to his side of the table.
At that moment, a Celanite walked over to Ralnor and whispered something into his ear. Ralnor looked up at the messenger, then back toward the table. Inexplicably he smiled.
"Gentleman, if you'll excuse me, my luck has just changed."
He scooped up his remaining chips and left the table.