After years of fighting the good fight, I finally decided to embrace my destiny and I became the Outlander. To face this great challenge I assembled the greatest alliance the galaxy has ever seen. Handpicked from all corners of space these soldiers, scientists and scoundrels hung by my side and performed at the highest level. They called me commander and believed that they were part of something bigger than themselves.
It was glorious, and then I showed them the Cantina.
I threw one giant party to help excise some of the demons of war and now that’s all they seem to do day in and day out. The drink and cavort, and their skills have gone soft. They used to heal me before I knew I was hurt. They could rival me in damage, and take a punch that would make a Rancor cry.
But now. Now they are all just a bunch of slackers no better than the crew I left for dead five years ago before this all started. They hit like wet noodles. The take a punch by hiding behind me and using me as their shield. Nico now heals by taking a swig of Corellian brandy and saying, “you might want to have that looked at.”
We used to walk into a heroic Star Fortress and own the joint, but now we’re getting shown the door.
Perhaps it’s for the best. Perhaps it’s an opportunity to strengthen our resolve and fight even harder. Or maybe, just maybe I need better gear and exert a little more influence to get back to where we were.
Let’s go slackers. The bar is closed. Time to get to work.
*header image from this post on Massively.
