ANGRY FANBOY – 01/15/2015

2015-01-15-ANGRY-FANBOY_aThe 2015 Oscar nominations have been announced, and according to Angry Fanboy, there is one glaring omission…again.

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STAR WARS: THE MARKER

A long time ago on a word processor far, far away… I wrote some Star Wars fan-fiction. In honor of the Star Wars franchise returning to Marvel Comics, and the release of the first issue today, I present to you the story that I wrote which takes place shortly after the events of A New Hope

The Marker
by Dan Taylor

There was something about the feel of the modified Havoc 9K repeating assault blaster in his hand that Jerolm absorbed like the warmth of a heated shelter during a bone chilling night on Hoth. Without his sidearm he felt vulnerable, naked, a target. While there were few in the galaxy that actually still used the bulky blaster, the Havoc had earned Jerolm’s trust as if it were the closest of family members. Not quite as long as a standard Imperial issue blaster, its girth was nearly twice that of the Stormtrooper sidearm. No other blaster felt right in his hand, and Jerolm had had plenty of opportunity during his career as a bounty hunter to try most within the Inner and Outer Rims. In the seven standard years since he salvaged the blaster from a derelict freighter, it had never jammed on him during a firefight, and he had a feeling that it never would.

With his arms crossed over his expansive chest and the blaster firmly gripped in his right hand, it appeared as if he were cradling the weapon as if it were a beloved infant. But, the remaining elements of Jerolm’s appearance dispelled any illusion of whatever motherly instincts he possessed. He was a large man with the sturdy structure of one who had grown up on a planet with a just above average gravitational pull. He stood a head taller than most other humans that he had met did. His head was bald, but he wore a goatee that covered the scar of an assassin’s unsuccessful garrote attempt under his chin. His nose was no stranger to being broken, and it was still a bit swollen as a result of a debate with a pair of gamblers over a questionably winning hand of sabacc.

His attire comprised of a cadet’s flight suit that a tailor had to have taken out at just about every seam. Although he himself had not lasted a semester at the academy, he found the flight suit quite comfortable. In fact it had been the only source of comfort in the academy besides flying the combat simulations. Over the flight suit was a bomber’s jacket well worn from the elements of many different planets. The back of the jacket was emblazoned with the gorgeous goddess of war of some far off world as she emerged from the flames of said world’s hell. It was the emblem associated with the former privateer gang known as Aurora’s Brigade. Now former due to the fact that most members of this so-called entrepreneurial organization were either deceased or expected to die while still incarcerated in an Imperial labor mine. Jerolm had managed to part ways with the group just before its downfall. The rest of his getup was comprised more in the fashion of an independent mercenary that relied on wits more than equipment.

Jerolm surveyed the promenade of Sutter’s Station from an alcove tucked between a used droid depository and a now defunct authentic Twi’lek eatery. Sutter’s Station was an out of the way stopover for travelers that were either lost or not intending on being kept track of. The station itself was situated on a barren moon orbiting a yellow/red gas giant that had an atmosphere swirling with storms. The facility was a way station, nothing more, nothing less. Currently the promenade was bustling with activity, more so than usual, as wayfarers and passengers attended to last minute business between connecting spaceflights. Sutter’s Station had no formal port authority, and the Empire had yet to deem it worthy of such, so it served as the perfect way station for those in a hurry to get somewhere or away from somewhere with minimum resistance. Currently though, Jerolm was in no hurry. He was here to wait.

It was not long before Jerolm’s attention was seized by the appearance of a large Wookie with chestnut fur merged through the crowd. At well over two meters in height, and a racial reputation of notable fierceness when angered, the denizen of Kashyyyk had little trouble making his way across the promenade. While some within the galaxy may argue that all Wookies looked alike, Jerolm had no problem recognizing Chewbacca, first mate aboard the Millennium Falcon. Jerolm slid the Havoc blaster into his low hanging holster, slid it back out and in just in case he would have to draw it out in a hurry, and set off to meet the Wookie on the promenade.

Hopefully the above has whet your appetite to read the rest of my Star Wars fan-fiction offering that I wrote over sixteen years ago. You can read the rest of The Marker if you’d like by downloading the pdf here. It clocks in at just over 4,800 words (or 12 pages). If you do read The Marker, please feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks — and may the Force be with you.

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