Let The Troubles Begin!! - Tumblr Posts
Her ship was a few miles off from where she was. As a result, Shima did not prepare for the rain and had to create a makeshift raincoat made up of the huge leaves that inhabited the massive jungle. She promised herself a nice shower once she got herself out of here, with her trove of treasures she scavenged from the dead ships,
Getting out of the brush was no joke, the mud kept pulling Shima in and made her talons hard to grip. It was an endeavoring test not to trip over herself. Yet despite it all, Kashyyyk reminded her of her home in the summer of monsoons. The petrichor was always a welcoming smell in the morning and she could only imagine it would be the same here when the morning comes. Eventually, she arrived at a clearing in the middle of the forest.
Lifting her hood she looked up at the raining sky, as it washed any grime on her away. This place looked unfamiliar, and she wondered if she was lost. She wasn’t sure. She saw something in the ground and decided to pick it up with her talons before grabbing it with her hands, only to find out that it was a simple medium sized rock. Frowning, she shrugged and chucked it into the bush before walking towards a puddle opposite of the bush.
Sev, ever the Commando, is servicing his gun in the jungle of Kashyyyk of all places, trying not to think about having no idea what his next move is, when he hears the snapping underbrush coming towards him; he doesn’t know who it is, but the lack of Wookie noises isn’t comforting him, and he’s leaning towards the likelihood of his visitor being Droids as he quickly reassembles the blaster rifle, scopes it, and aims at the oncoming sounds.
he’s stranded here, no Republic forces remaining on planet, and uncertain of the outcome of the Battle thus far, having stayed in the woods since his being left behind by his squadmates- so he knows he’s got nothing but the fight in his bones and his wits to keep himself safe. however, luckily, he’s got plenty of both of those in his favor…
breath holds in his chest, a mausoleum of ribs and red-stained armor- he stills his finger against the trigger and squints through the visor that synchs to his sniper-scope, waiting for the indication of whether to fire or hold to explode through the bushes ahead…
sweat slides, all tickling droplets, down his hot skin under his plastoid armor, but he doesn’t waver, and doesn’t speak- his deep, snarling, gravelly voice would only serve to reveal his location, and that would not do until he’s sure of who- or what- is coming through the jungle as he waits there in the clearing.