Shimir Sheerelk
Nov 9th, 2003, 04:39:04 PM
The door hissed open angrily as the airlock began to presurize. Hanging in space above a briliant green orb of a Nkllon, the space platform Vengance spiraled in it's high orbit, the length of the station bristling with turbolaser emplacement and ion cannons, the teeth and claws of this immobile yet still dangerous predator. Tight up against when of the many alcoves, a small transport lay flat against the station, it's docking clamps grasping tightly against it's inatimate guardian.
Inside the station bustled excitedly. Vendors had set up shops dotting the corriders in hopes of attracting the various aristocrats and passers by that were expected to depart from the transport. Arrivals like this were fairly commonplace, and the Imperialistic, immaculate white halls hosted a variety of inhabitants on a daily basis. However, this particular ship brought a unique visitor, and it soon became clear to his comrades that privacy was unparalled in value to them. And the Imperial elite with their monacles and overcoats all made the very wise descion to keep their distance. And so after the aristocrats, and artisans, and techs, and all other travelers aboard the transport had scurried off to relatives, or connecting flights, or any other number of destinations, Shimir Sheerelk stepped heavily out of the airlock.
He was an imposing figure at well over two meters, and it must have been the work of the force that his frame ever managed to be squeezed into the fighter of a cockpit, but that is what he did, and did well. His Dress Uniform, which he displayed proudly, was weighed down heavily with medals and ribbons from past campaigns with the former Empire. And his flight helmet (dangling from his travelling bag) was nearly completely covered in decals of various fighters of different sizes and affiliations, as well as some ominously larger ships, all of which had met their destiny through the targeting recticle of Shimir's Missle Boat. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, almost black, and they contrasted violently with his cold, white skin. His hair was jet black, with two, vertical streaks of white, running the length of the mane. He had close to three days growth of facial hair on his chin, though it appeared he kept it short, and in check, as was Imperial standard. A long, Jagged scar ran the course of his face, from the temple to the chin. In his hands he clutched his bag, and a single transparent sheet.
He ambled slowly over to the flight officer, walking with a slight limp: An aditional reward for his services to the Empire. He approached the officer and sat down his, bag, extending the sheet towards the officer, who took it to look at. Meanwhile, Shimir paused to examine the surroundings. A group of young men had just burst out of the cantina, and obviously still bore the effects of the adventure, as several of them were stumbling over their own feet, and one (who appeared to be the leader of the bunch) was boasting loudly:
"So the Cap'n loaded me up on this new sim, he thought it was really gonna stump me. Had me up against a Squadron of A-Wings and a pair of Corvettes. I gotta hand it to him, it was tough...For about thirty seconds" With this the group broke into a deafening roar of laughter. As they passed by, the leader, in his stupor, ran almost directly into Shimir.
"Watch it kid" Shimir growled. The kid turned around, and responded with a shove to Shimir's chest.
"Just who are you old timer?" The Kid asked, as his friends guffawed their approval.
"You should treat your elders with more respect" Shimir answered, before turning back to the officer. The group cooed sarcastically, and again resumed the mocking laughter of the vetran.
"And why is that Grandpa?" The kid managed to ask through his laughter.
"Because they might just take offense" Shimir said, wheeling about and grabbing the kid by throat, slamming him into the nearest bulkhead, and elevating him half a meter. The laughter stopped abruptly, leaving only silence. The kid brought his hand up to his throat, gasping for air, but Shimir remained firm.
"You wanted to know who I was, so I will tell you. I am Shimir Sheerelk, hero of the Empire, or rather the Empire as it used to be. Murderer of hundreds of Rebels, I was saving the galaxy from the scum while you were still sucking on your mothers tit. I have made friends, and lost some, sent others to their deaths and retain only one. I have loved only once and lost her as a result. I have stared death in the face, and seen him blink and turn his back, and it remains to be seen when he returns. I know the thrill of sending a Rebel to his doom with my green lances from my ship, as well as the horror of spiraling away from a fligh of X-Wings with no shields as a single laser can send you into the void. I have learned my lessons in a TIE Fighter, thats what we trained with in those days, the way men do, not these simulators you girls use. And you learn your lessons in that ship, and you pay for them..." Shimir ran a finger down his scar "...the Hard way. In short son, I am an Imperial, and more so than you could ever fathom." Shimir threw the kid to the ground, where h landed with a dull thud against the dura-steel floor. His friends rushed over to tend to him. Shimir turned back to the officer, who was trying his best to remain un-phased.
"Shimir Sheerelk, reporting to serve the Sovereignty" Shimir growled.
"Good to have you aboard sir" The Officer replied with a nasal infliction, taking Shimir's bag and handing it to a droid.
"Gloria Imperium" Shimir exclaimed, returning a crisp salute.
Inside the station bustled excitedly. Vendors had set up shops dotting the corriders in hopes of attracting the various aristocrats and passers by that were expected to depart from the transport. Arrivals like this were fairly commonplace, and the Imperialistic, immaculate white halls hosted a variety of inhabitants on a daily basis. However, this particular ship brought a unique visitor, and it soon became clear to his comrades that privacy was unparalled in value to them. And the Imperial elite with their monacles and overcoats all made the very wise descion to keep their distance. And so after the aristocrats, and artisans, and techs, and all other travelers aboard the transport had scurried off to relatives, or connecting flights, or any other number of destinations, Shimir Sheerelk stepped heavily out of the airlock.
He was an imposing figure at well over two meters, and it must have been the work of the force that his frame ever managed to be squeezed into the fighter of a cockpit, but that is what he did, and did well. His Dress Uniform, which he displayed proudly, was weighed down heavily with medals and ribbons from past campaigns with the former Empire. And his flight helmet (dangling from his travelling bag) was nearly completely covered in decals of various fighters of different sizes and affiliations, as well as some ominously larger ships, all of which had met their destiny through the targeting recticle of Shimir's Missle Boat. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, almost black, and they contrasted violently with his cold, white skin. His hair was jet black, with two, vertical streaks of white, running the length of the mane. He had close to three days growth of facial hair on his chin, though it appeared he kept it short, and in check, as was Imperial standard. A long, Jagged scar ran the course of his face, from the temple to the chin. In his hands he clutched his bag, and a single transparent sheet.
He ambled slowly over to the flight officer, walking with a slight limp: An aditional reward for his services to the Empire. He approached the officer and sat down his, bag, extending the sheet towards the officer, who took it to look at. Meanwhile, Shimir paused to examine the surroundings. A group of young men had just burst out of the cantina, and obviously still bore the effects of the adventure, as several of them were stumbling over their own feet, and one (who appeared to be the leader of the bunch) was boasting loudly:
"So the Cap'n loaded me up on this new sim, he thought it was really gonna stump me. Had me up against a Squadron of A-Wings and a pair of Corvettes. I gotta hand it to him, it was tough...For about thirty seconds" With this the group broke into a deafening roar of laughter. As they passed by, the leader, in his stupor, ran almost directly into Shimir.
"Watch it kid" Shimir growled. The kid turned around, and responded with a shove to Shimir's chest.
"Just who are you old timer?" The Kid asked, as his friends guffawed their approval.
"You should treat your elders with more respect" Shimir answered, before turning back to the officer. The group cooed sarcastically, and again resumed the mocking laughter of the vetran.
"And why is that Grandpa?" The kid managed to ask through his laughter.
"Because they might just take offense" Shimir said, wheeling about and grabbing the kid by throat, slamming him into the nearest bulkhead, and elevating him half a meter. The laughter stopped abruptly, leaving only silence. The kid brought his hand up to his throat, gasping for air, but Shimir remained firm.
"You wanted to know who I was, so I will tell you. I am Shimir Sheerelk, hero of the Empire, or rather the Empire as it used to be. Murderer of hundreds of Rebels, I was saving the galaxy from the scum while you were still sucking on your mothers tit. I have made friends, and lost some, sent others to their deaths and retain only one. I have loved only once and lost her as a result. I have stared death in the face, and seen him blink and turn his back, and it remains to be seen when he returns. I know the thrill of sending a Rebel to his doom with my green lances from my ship, as well as the horror of spiraling away from a fligh of X-Wings with no shields as a single laser can send you into the void. I have learned my lessons in a TIE Fighter, thats what we trained with in those days, the way men do, not these simulators you girls use. And you learn your lessons in that ship, and you pay for them..." Shimir ran a finger down his scar "...the Hard way. In short son, I am an Imperial, and more so than you could ever fathom." Shimir threw the kid to the ground, where h landed with a dull thud against the dura-steel floor. His friends rushed over to tend to him. Shimir turned back to the officer, who was trying his best to remain un-phased.
"Shimir Sheerelk, reporting to serve the Sovereignty" Shimir growled.
"Good to have you aboard sir" The Officer replied with a nasal infliction, taking Shimir's bag and handing it to a droid.
"Gloria Imperium" Shimir exclaimed, returning a crisp salute.