Star Wars OPEN Elite League Limmie

IC Post

Bak10 Briefing
Courtesty of BBC Sports

"With their first round pick..."
Assessing the draftability of the Bak10's standout players

We might be just a bit over with the regular season in the pros and the Bak10, but the 274 ELL Draft picture is starting to become clear. These are the players you should be watching now because you're going to be watching them on HSN's Game of the Week in the near future.

Falene Trieste, PCNS
I know, I know, good one right? No, not because Trieste is coasting on a famous last name (she's not). But please, stop laughing because it's not fair to the other eleven teams in the Elite League that they're never going to get a shot at drafting this stellar half back. Even though the Chancellor says that thanks to rule clarifications from the GCAA regarding communication between pro teams and current college athletes, she smiles every time she says it. Everybody, and that includes the GCAA, knows that she's as good as signed with the Miners. The only reason Abregado-rae isn't doing anything about it is because the Chancellor would hit them with an antitrust lawsuit in the blink of an eye (and there are enough Senators grumbling about the bowl system that such a thing could happen).

All of that aside, Quinn Cundertol should go buy his boss the most expensive bottle of whiskey he can find because Falene Trieste is as good as a gift wrapped Life Day present underneath his tree. The Miners defense has been League-worst and bailed out only by the fact that the halo around Aron Rodders' head blinds opposing goalkeepers. Though Cundertol has been very careful about his player development, Trieste is a Day 1 talent in the Elite League and if she brings even half her college game to her rookie year, she's going to go a long way in shoring up the Miner defense.

As has been pointed out, because Trieste redshirted her Freshman year at PCNS, she still has one year of eligibility left, despite the fact that she is graduating in the spring. However, Trieste seems to have made it all but official that she had no intention of staying at PCNS after attaining her degree.

Niskat Deenever, UBSD
Our first player who the entire League will probably have a shot at is half forward Niskat Deenever, who has put the Golden Bears into title contention for the first time since Rodders' graduation. Deenever is well sized for a human female and has shown her willingness to play physical. She's got a bit of a scoring touch, but her strength is in setting up more talented teammates. Deenever reads the field well, has excellent peripheral vision, and has Gen'Dai levels of healing. Deenever took an elbow to the head in her match against the Colonials and not only played through but scored a goal immediately thereafter. Scouts are split on whether Deenever needs seasoning in the LFL before she gets the call for the big time, but everyone agrees that she's going to make an impact in the ELL.

Calmerung D'jukk, Evenvale
When he took over the Miners, Quinn Cundertol pushed the Bak10 schools to have more species diversity. The athletic directors took this to hear and there is now starting to be a trickle of skilled players coming out of the Bak10 who aren't humans. The non-human most likely to get chosen in the 274 Draft is D'jukk, a Khil who transfered to Evenvale from Yag D'hul. D'jukk is a promising corner back who has had plenty of opportunity to strut on an undertalented Evenvale squad. In fact, D'jukk is the only thing that's gone right for the Archers this season. He's intelligent and athletic, always a positive combination. He's more of a finesse defender than a physical one, which has its disadvantages in the Elite League. D'jukk would be a good pick up for a team that's looking to get faster and more nimble in the offseasn.

Almert Song, Tiarest
The Burgundy have raised their game lately thanks to corner forward Song, who has taken the academically prestigious (but often athletically underachieving) Tiarest Burgundy into the Bak10 title talk. Song's strong fundamentals on the ball have paid off with the highest point total in the conference. He's only three behind for overall goals and could well catch that too before the season is done. Song has one year of eligibility left, but the rumors in Salis D'aar are that he's intending to make the jump to the Elite League to cash in on a spectacular season. Song brings more to the table that a regular draftee--his degree is in electrical engineering, one of Tiarest's most storied (and hardest) programs, with an emphasis in robots. How many players can fix their team's med droids after a game? Song can.

TAG: My best guess at next season's potential draft teams, which I think would be Bardan_Jusik CPL_Macja jcgoble3 Jedi Gunny JediMaster1511 JM_1977 Runjedirun Teegirloo

 

GM Post

Bonus rolls to Bakura, Coruscant, Mando'ade, Nar Shaddaa, Ralltiir, and Rydonni Prime.

Week 5 Results

Euceron Storm at Ryloth Rough Riders (19-35)
Vandelhelm Jets at Ylesia Lightning (35-11)
Ralltiir Starkillers at Onderon Crazy Dragons (19-27)
Coruscant Senators at Mando’ade Mercs (34-23)
Bakura Miners at Nar Shaddaa Smugglers (37-33)
Chandrila Patriots at Rydonni Prime Monarchs (31-40)

---

Dear 24601,

Your balance at the start of this week was 1.15 million credits. Based on the outcome of Week 5's games, we show the following activity:

Chandrila Patriots at Rydonni Prime Monarchs: 100,000 credit
Bakura Miners at Nar Shaddaa Smugglers: 75,000 debit
Coruscant Senators at Mando’ade Mercs: 75,000 debit
Vandelhalm Jets at Ylesia Lightning: 75,000 debit
Ralltiir Starkillers at Onderon Crazy Dragons: 75,000 debit
Euceron Storm at Ryloth Rough Riders: 75,000 debit

As a result, your balance with us is now 875,000 credits.

Sincerely,

Bennett Halverson
Executive Director
Rossum Bookmakers

---

Six Boroughs Stadium, Nar Shaddaa
Halftime

In the middle of what was a characteristically heated Black and Blue Battle, the fans at Six Boroughs were settling in for the usual halftime show when they got a very large surprise.

"Gentlebeings, please turn your attention to the middle of the field where the Smugglers are proud to welcome Everek, member of the Limmie Hall of Fame board."

A brown furred Kushiban scampered out to the middle of the field and stood on its hind legs to speak into the hovering microphone at midfield.

"Hello Six Boroughs," Everek said and received warm cheers at the playing to the home crowd, "It is my distinct pleasure to come here from Empress Teta to announce the 273 Limmie Hall of Fame class of inductees." The crowd was pleasantly surprised. "First, the Hall decided that the historic Black & Blue Battle is a perfect time to announce that the Hall will be featuring a special exhibit this coming year on the 210 ABY Bakura Miners, who overcame extreme odds to go all the way to the Galactic Cup Final that year."

The Smuggler fans booed (they weren't going to cheer for anything having to do with the Miners with such a close game going on) while the Miner fans applauded. The boos well outweighed the applause. Everek waited them out.

"The Limmie Hall of Fame will be joined by two luminaries of the sport, two coaches who had vision for their teams and who led them to greatness. The induction of each is both long overdue and I am proud to present, for the first time, 273 Limmie Hall of Fame inductees Joe Manco and Tover Micjaa!"

The grizzled coach of the Miners from half a century earlier, who had seen the Miners to a championship and four Finals appearances, walked out onto the field beside the man, the myth, and the legend as Six Boroughs shook so hard with applause and fans coming to their feet that it nearly fell down. 247 MVP; 249 Galactic Cup champion as a player; 252, 256, 257, and 262 Langann winner; 261 Galactic Cup champion as a coach. Tover Micjaa was still wildly popular on the Smugglers' Moon and grinned and waved to the crowd. Manco, for his part, gave a little wave directed at the Miner fans.

The pair went to the center of the field and Everek hopped onto a platform to shake the hand of each and pose for holos as the crowd continued to applaud.

Greatness was recognized today.

TAG: @Bardan_Jusik CPL_Macja jcgoble3 Jedi Gunny JediMaster1511 JM_1977 Liam_Vehn Rebecca_Daniels Runjedirun Teegirloo

 

Sub-GM Post

Bonus rolls this week to (points in parentheses): Tatooine (28), Concordia (30), Thyferra (32), Druckenwell (28).

Limmie Futures League
Week 5
Tatooine Sandskimmers at Kessel Runners (8–1)
Concordia Crusaders at Kashyyyk Rangers (11–20)
Shili Suncrushers at Thyferra Force (21–14)
Commenor Gundarks at Kamino Waves (14–13)
Druckenwell Marksmen at Denon Demons (9–17)

TAG: JM_1977, Bardan_Jusik, Liam_Vehn, Rebecca_Daniels, Jedi Gunny, Teegirloo, Runjedirun, JediMaster1511

 

IC: Gark S’rily
Keldabe, Mandalore

The stadium was loud. There was nothing like having to deal with millions of armor-clad fans yelling like their house was on fire for the entire 60 minutes of the game. Gark remembered this place well; it was murder to try and make calls down on the field, and only slightly better in the box where he now sat. There had been a reason for him equipping the team with earplugs to try and drown out the crowd noise; it wasn’t overly effective, but at least it let the players hear their own thoughts as they raced around the pitch.

The game had been closely-tied through the first half. Neither team could pull away, and it seemed like when one team pulled out ahead, the other would come back to get it close once again. The Mercs had pulled out early with a pair of goals, but the Senators, feeding off the energy created by a hit and turnover created by Zummarrorroo, got those goals back from Riff Persnor and Polis Vayne. Then, when the Senators had a four-point lead, the Mercs came back with a goal and bar point to tie it up. What a back-and-forth game it had been, and the second half looked to be shaping up about the same when the game hit halftime.

But it wasn’t to be that way. The Senators came out firing early. Polis, taking a pick from Syprul Raches on one of the Hanson brothers (Gark could never tell them apart), caught the feed from Rayel Edare, dodged another defender, and beat Mij Katan to the punch by yanking the chain on a corkscrew shot that skipped easily past the young goalie’s fingers into the net for three points. This was Polis’s second goal of the day, and Gark could tell that he was in the game. When Polis got hot, the other team had to beware, because the Senator assistant captain was not to be messed with when he was in the zone.

Another great opportunity came when Dirxx Horstse made his presence felt by nailing Maggie Adams, a Mercs sub, hard and causing her to throw an errant pass that was picked off by Ortho Dyhon. Dyhon, the Center Half Back, tossed it to Alysha Romax in the middle of the field, who then passed it to field general Lokesh Fil’ish. The steady Bothan eyed her options and then ran a small route over to the left to draw the defense. She then hurtled a pass to the other side of the field to a waiting Max Qorbus, who then threaded the needle into the middle of the offensive zone where Polis was waiting. He caught the ball, his back to the defender, faked one way to lose said defender, and then swung around to face the goal on a 180-degree spin. Katan hadn’t expected this, especially when Polis, staring straight at the goal, made a no-look pass to Moen Heatly, who had been loitering near the goal the entire possession. Katan bit on the pass, and the give-and-go play worked to perfection. Moen hit Polis easily on a return pass, and Polis had a mostly-empty net to pick apart with a rocket. Polis finished his Hat trick on the play, and the Senators were starting to pull away.

A play of concern happened a few minutes later. The Mercs were threatening on offense, passing the ball around in Viszla’s spread offense. Gark knew that the Merc coach had been working hard to use this kind of attack in the Elite League, and it bore many similarities to the offense that he himself had installed here on Coruscant. Neither defense could really rest as the ball stayed in the air most of the time, and zone was more prevalent for defense. One of the Mercs forwards finally charged forward with the ball, and Jayla Leed, the Senator goalie, came out to challenge. Out of nowhere, she was rammed into by a Mercs player, who had been bounced aside by the wing defender Zummarrorroo and nailed Leed in her blind spot. She went down to the turf clutching her shoulder, and the Mercs scored a goal on the play. Dirxx complained to the refs about goalie interference, but they weren’t buying it because the guilty party had, prior to the play, been contacted by a member of the Senators. Thus, it was a negligent bit of contact.

The trainers ran out to check on Leed, taking a long look at her shoulder. Leed just shook her head every time she was asked a question, and after about forty-five seconds, the trainers left the field. Jayla returned to her goal, but there was a grimace on her face. She was obviously in pain, and when she kicked the ball back into play, she shook her arm a bit to try and loosen it up a bit.

As the minutes began to tick down, it looked increasingly likely that the Senators would take this game in the end. The Mercs offense, so strong all season, began to wear down under the relentless pressure the Senators had finally established. This was due to one main difference in strategies; the Mercs didn’t switch their players out as often as the Senators did, so the Mercs starters were wearing down as the Senators had somewhat-fresh legs off the bench in shifts. It finally seemed to be working, and the Senators pulled away.

Polis, taking another feed from Fil’ish, dodged another tackle and slung the ball into the goal past Katan for Goal #4 on the game. Gark had to hand it to the forward; he certainly had put the incident from last week’s Rim War game behind him and was moving forward brilliantly. Most likely Polis had fed off the disappointment of that moment and was trying to show the galaxy why that had been a slip-up, and nothing more.

Finally the game ended, Senators 34 against the Mercs’ 23. It had been a solid victory for Coruscant, who knew that a win in this game would give them quite a bit of momentum going into their home finale against Rydonni Prime the next week. The Solo Conference was a bloodbath, and no team could be counted out quite yet for the playoff hunt. Every game was going to count, and Gark knew that the Senators couldn’t get complacent. There was still a decent chance they would miss the playoffs altogether, so they couldn’t let their foot off the gas just yet. There was still Limmie to be played.

“Not a bad game,” Londy Whiste commented as the Senators celebrated the win down on the field. “We really took it to ‘em today.”

“Yeah,” Gark replied. “Just not sure how Leed will respond to that injury next week. She seemed rattled by that hit, so we’ll see in practice this week if she’s good to go for next week.”

As Gark stepped onto the team shuttle, he breathed a sigh of relief. The team had won, which pushed them into second place in the conference behind the victorious Bakura Miners, who had outlasted the Nar Shaddaa Smugglers in the Black and Blue Battle. This made the loss to Bakura two weeks previous even harder to swallow; if both teams won out, the Miners would still hold the edge due to their win. That meant that the Senators needed some help if they were to have any chance at the Commissioner’s Trophy or the Conference playoff bye. But they had to win out first, and that wouldn’t be easy. Coming up were Rydonni Prime and Chandrila, both interested in beating the Senators and making their claim for Solo Conference supremacy. Things were not over yet.

TAG: Bardan_Jusik

 

IC: Ayn Dormingale
Six Boroughs Stadium, Nar Shaddaa

When Meredith Chambers made a request, the Bakura Miners were all too happy to comply.

They didn't just not go easy on the Smugglers great: they took it to her hard.

From the very start of the game the Miners invaded the Smugglers territory and executed the Valerii Cycle, eventually putting the bolo-ball into the hands of Aron Rodders for the first goal of the game. The sizzler caught Chambers totally off guard and it was at that moment that she realized that sometimes you get what you ask for--and more.

In the visitor's box, the Triestes watched with great pleasure as the Miners offense did what had become their thing this season: score a ridiculous amount of points. They'd been very solid in non-conference play, but they'd stepped things up to an absurd level for the Solo Conference. It was exciting limmie too--the sort that drew ratings and sold seats. The former half forward was very pleased with the tempo of the game.

"There we go!" Kerry called out as the Miners put a point over the bar.

"There's nothing that the Smugglers can do to stop them," Ayn commented.

"Absolutely nothing. They're ripping into Chambers," Declan agreed.

Of course, the exact same thing was happening down at the other end of the field. The Miners defense was playing its usual dismal self. If their compatriots at the other end of the field hadn't been scoring at will, the Miner defense would probably be getting excoriated in the press. It was shamefully bad defense and Helena Forsythe was leading the way at tearing into Jorpik, who was receiving next to no help from his defense. Once again, the topic of conversation amongst the Triestes turned to Valerii and defensive shortcomings in her coaching style.

"I'm telling you, she needs a defensive coordinator," Fiona insisted. The former half back in her was absolutely appalled at the play of the Miners' back seven today.

"And history says messing with a team in the middle of a season is a bad thing," Kerry said, "We'll take our chances with Valerii's style."

"If she keeps her offense running like this, it's not going to matter. In a run-and-gun game she's got the advantage," Ronan said.

It was perhaps a little too confident. The Miners didn't have the game anywhere near in hand. In fact, the Smugglers powered their way to a lead several times--only for the Miners to answer authoritatively and gain it back. Neither team had a decisive advantage. It was a truly offensive shootout today.

Ayn was pretty sure that she saw why. Alana Glencross had basically given up on playing midfield. She was spending the vast majority of her time high in the offensive zone as a seventh attacker. She drew Ruunjaa with her, but the Trandoshan wasn't used to playing straight up defense this much. The result was Glencross was having a field day at Ruunjaa's expense. She'd put five points over the bar, low flying kicks that just barely cleared the bar--almost as if she was taunting Chambers with their proximity to be blocked. Even so, they were just high enough to be out of Chambers' range.

Ayn picked up a pair of macrobinoculars from someone in the box after Glencross's fifth point. The redhead had a grin on her face as she looked across the field. Ayn couldn't quite tell from the angle, but she had a feeling it was directed at Chambers.

---

At halftime, the Triestes were milling about inside the box proper, having drinks exchanged, debating points about the game and the like. They weren't paying attention to what was going on down on the field until the Six Boroughs crowd started to cheer louder than they had all game. That drew all of their attention to the field. Had Siona not been smart enough to look at the giant vidscreen, they wouldn't have realized that they'd just had one of the great figures of their franchise inducted into the Hall of Fame.

"Well would you look at that!" Regan said, "Blondie's in the Hall. I'm shocked he's still alive."

"He must be getting organ transplants from us," Dorian, a doctor, wryly commented.

"Good for him," Ayn said, "From what you've told me it sounds like he deserves it."

"He does. The man was a force," Ronan said appreciatively, "And Tover deserves his due. He was a true terror on the field and as a coach. Imagine what he could have done if he'd had the helm of an actually decent team like the Miners. He could have had a dynasty."

"Oh don't let Verity hear that," Mandy said.

"Troublemaker," Regan commented curtly to her younger brother.

---

The game was tied 30 all and time was growing short in the second half. Ayn had the feeling that whoever took the next decisive lead was going to win. A goal here would do one team in for sure. The mood in the box was tense.

Dupont received a pass from Darkrider, who had much more room to operate with the general absence of Glencross in the midfield. Dupont ran up field and easily sidestepped T.K.--only to get hipchecked by Wizmark who slid across the turf into the unaware Smuggler. Wizmark recovered the bolo-ball herself and kicked it high up the field. The Miners offense and Smugglers defense collided to catch it--and the head of tall Becki Morlan won out. Outside of the scrum was Alana Glencross who neatly received it and immediately hurled it to Rodders, who had good body position on Ike Tullo. Rodders swung around to shoot on Chambers--who blocked the shot authoritatively...only for the rebound to come right to an aggressive Glencross who with a whip of red orange hair headered the ball into the back of the net.

Ayn jumped to her feet with raised arms with the Triestes. High fives were exchanged all around.

Kerry Trieste looked at the game clock. "It's time we go," she announced. Looking at one of the droid waiters in the box she said, "Get the box."

---

The Noble House marched onto the sideline as the game wound down. The Miners were now up 37-33 on the Smugglers and were simply running out the clock now. This was the first time that Ayn had ever been field level during a game. Even though the Smugglers were down by two scores, the crowd noise was so much louder than it was in the rarefied air of the boxes. The chances of a Smuggler comeback were dwindling, but the fans were still doing everything they could to will their team to victory.

Kerry Trieste led the team (and the contingent of Senatorial Guard) to near the Miners' bench, but very pointedly did not mingle with them. The game wasn't over and the Chancellor respected the fact that Valerii's job was not done yet. Kerry was not going to interfere.

Standing behind the Triestes was the droid with the box. Curiosity was itching away at her. She wanted to know what was in the box, what Kerry Trieste had insisted be taxed, and what she wanted her at the eve of victory.

On the sideline, Valerii turned and called to her players on the bench. They were mainly their reserves, and with only a 4 point difference standing between the teams, Ayn wondered what was so important.

"Stand up," Gaeriel told them.

The players did and they came to the edge of the field in a line. Valerii put her fingers in her mouth and whistled as loud as she could. Her captain heard it and put one finger over her head and swung it around in a circle to communicate to her team. Alesh, who was running with the bolo-ball, responded and put the ball back to Glencross. She received a block from Landa to get Ruunjaa out of her way. Glencross took two steps and then chipped the bolo-ball into a high parabolic arc. Alana watched her shot, as did all of the Miners.

"Come on, come on," Valerii said loud enough for Ayn to hear.

The ball started its descent and the Miner forwards took up odd positioning. They were boxing the Senators out. The ball was on a straight path for the uprights.

And it dropped into the waiting arms of Meredith Chambers, her heels on the goal line. Glencross pumped a fist with satisfaction. She'd put that ball exactly where she'd wanted to.

The buzzer sounded and, with the Smugglers now at 1-4, what looked like Meredith Chambers' last Black & Blue Battle was over.



The Miners gathered to celebrate their victory in typical fashion, joined by their coach and the reserve players. However, Alana jogged straight away to the sideline and the Noble House party. "You got it?" she asked the Chancellor.

"Absolutely," Kerry said and she motioned for the container to be opened.

Ayn craned her neck to see inside. Cushioned for travel was a lone bottle of expensive Bakuran whiskey, which Glencross grabbed. She then ran back to her teammates, who had, in a curious move, assembled themselves into a line. This was standard protocol for the end of a playoff game, but not for a regular season game. Even so, Ayn was pretty sure that she knew why.

Attention must be paid.

"Come on, let's go," Kerry said.

The Noble House added themselves to the end of the line just as the first player, Rodders, who had absolutely victimized Chambers during the day, shook the veteran's hand. Every Miner in turn shook the hand of Meredith Chambers, an all-too familiar foe that would be sorely missed. The sentiment varied, but it was essentially the same from being to being.

"Congratulations on an incredible career."

When the two captains met, they hugged and Glencross handed over the bottle of whiskey. "Couldn't let you leave this one emptyhanded," Alana said to Meredith as they hugged, "And besides--if you'd taken the Old Whiskey Trophy from us today...well, we needed something for the flight to Chandrila. Those farmers are boring."

The Chancellor shook Chambers' hand warmly. "You're a credit to the sport, Chambers. You've infuriated me over the years, and there aren't many beings who've gotten the better of me," she said with a smile.

When it came to Ayn's turn, she felt awkward. What did one say to a retiring great? "It's an honor," was what she said, and that was all she said.

By the time the Triestes had finished the handshake line, Glencross had just about finished pouring out the contents of the Old Whiskey Trophy among her teammates. Together they raised their glasses and called out:

"But since it fell into my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Goodnight and joy be with you all."

The Miners drank to the passing of their rival. For the first time in her life, Ayn felt like she stood witness to history. She'd lived through a Civil War in which her grandmother had been Deputy Prime Minister and yet that was not so real to her as this moment now. It seemed to her that when one was with the Triestes, one made history.

TAG: Liam_Vehn

 

IC: Meredith Chambers
Final Black and Blue Battle, Miners 37, Smugglers 33

OOC: I thought, just for a change, I’d write this post from the first person.

They say that the Maker works in mysterious ways.

They say that there are only a few certainties in life: death and taxes.

They say that out of bad experiences good things can develop and unfold.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe they know everything that ought to be known about how the galaxy works, about why some things resonate more than others, about why it is that when I put on the burgundy and black for the Nar Shaddaa Smugglers, I represent more than my team, I represent tradition. I represent more than the point on the Vertical City where the six boroughs come together, I represent all those people that couldn’t be where I am today, playing goalkeeper in my final Black and Blue Battle against
the age old foes, the Bakura Miners.

I grew up hating the Miners. I grew up loathing everything there was to loathe about the blue and the gold, about Dana Roslyn, about the Adamas, about every seat that was filled at Bakura Gardens during a home game with their obnoxious liquor induced fans. Their silly songs, the pageantry, the college recruiting system, you name it, if it bled blue and gold I was as far away as I could physically get. And yet, as time went on, as I had to confront the very thing that I hated, I realized that the Bakura Miners and their players, coaches, and team personnel, were not at fault for being as successful as they were or for touting traditions of their own. They were competing, just as I was, for that silver chalice in the sky that told the galaxy that for one day, for one moment, we were champions, once, champions of all that seemed to matter, champions of Elite League Limmie. And it was then, once I recognized that the very thing about them that I disliked, I disliked in myself. I confronted my own demons, I stepped away from the shadow, and became my own woman, my own being, and discovered I had nothing but respect for my rivals. Nothing but respect and admiration, and that is something I wish I could teach to others. Maybe that day will come.

I’ve held the Galactic Cup high above my head in victory. Kissed that silver trophy more passionately than I ever kissed someone I loved. Watched with child like wonder as the ticker tape and confetti rained down on me like the perfect snow storm. I’ve also experienced the humbling feeling of defeat in the greatest game of them all. Watched as another team, who had fought just as hard, who had earned their place as Galactic Cup champions, took center stage on the field where only a few minutes before I was so sure that victory was mine. Humbling, I tell you, nothing more humbling than losing on the biggest stage of them all. That’s a long walk to the locker room. That’s a long shuttle home. That’s a long off-season. And the pain never really goes away. Makes a break up seem like a tiny sliver in comparison. And so it is in defeat that I realized my love for the game. Those are the moments that test you, that push you hard, that make you want to scream in outrage, but that also remind you that you can only control so much, that your career only lasts so long, and in the blink of an eye, is gone, and there you are, older, wiser, and wondering where the time has gone, wondering what could’ve been, always wondering.

When my last Black and Blue Battle came to a close, I watched with alert eyes as Glencross received a signal from the sidelines. I didn’t know the Miners signals. But I did know Alana Glencross. Red and I weren’t friends when we first started playing against one another years ago. We talked a lot of trash, we played hard, might’ve even tried to kill each other on the pitch a few times, but in the end, she became my best friend. Think on that for a minute. My worst enemy, the terror of my dreams, became a friend that I wouldn’t trade for anything. She became someone I respected. She became someone I admired. She, in the long run, became someone I loved. And so I watched as Glencross kicked that bolo-ball, a high-arcing, shot that fell right into my outstretched arms. I knew the game was over. I knew, in some small part of my soul, that my time in the Elite League was also nearly over.

I held on to that bolo-ball for a few minutes and just released a flood of emotions. My tears came down my face, rolled off the smooth surface of the grass-stained game ball, all the while the crowd stomped, clapped, hollered, and applauded the performance of two Limmie greats, battling one last time, giving it their all, nobody wanting the game to end. And yet, like all things, this game had to end. And I’ll tell you something, I’m glad it ended the way it did. I’m glad that I didn’t win. I’m glad that I fought hard and gave Glencross and the Miners my best. Winning isn’t everything and sometimes in the hour of defeat you realize just what you’ve nearly missed in life, what you’ve always wanted, and suddenly, everything comes into focus. Everything and then, like so many who have retired before me, you realize that this is, after all, just a game. Win or lose, life goes on. I wanted my life to go on and so it did.

So with a fatigue unlike any I have ever known, with a love unlike any I have ever felt, with a feeling that all good things run their due course, I accepted the bottle of Bakuran whiskey with a gracious heart. I gave Glencross a hug, held her tight, held her close, could feel her heartbeat for just a fraction of a second. I wanted to cherish this moment. I wanted to savor every last drop. When she pulled away, I smiled, she smiled, and I whispered a quiet thank you. A thank you for complying with my wish, for fighting me hard all the way down the stretch, for never letting me have anything easy.

I shook the rest of the Miner’s hands. I listened to them sing a song that touched my soul. Words that seemed so familiar to me though we never sang such songs on Hapes, never even came close to singing such songs on Nar Shaddaa, and still, I could almost sing along with them. I could almost anticipate what they were going to say. My last Black and Blue Battle was one for the ages. A close game, a game where I had put everything I could into, and in the end, I got to meet the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. How many people can say that? I got to meet her family and be recognized for my efforts on the pitch. Me, Meredith Chambers, my fifteen minutes of fame.

I raised the bottle of Bakuran whiskey high above my head, never to be opened, to be locked away, someplace safe, someplace that I could brag for ages that I had earned every drop of the damned stuff. The crowd cheered, Six Boroughs rocked, and for the first time in my life, during the post-heat of a rivalry game, the stadium was united. Miners fans, Smugglers fans, they were sharing drinks, swapping stories, remembering the legends of times long gone, remembering the legends still living in the present, and I couldn’t help but smile, I couldn’t help but tear up a bit, as I watched these miraculous exchanges.

Something stirred deep within me that day. I was no longer Meredith Chambers, goalkeeper for the Nar Shaddaa Smugglers, bane to half the Limmie teams in the galaxy, I was just a woman, loving every moment, playing a game I loved more than anything, following a passion, living a life, surrounded by friends, surrounded by family, surrounded by love. They played to honor me today. The passing of a legend but I would be the first to tell you that I am no legend, I am someone who made the most of opportunities given to her, and I hope that has been enough.

This was a Black and Blue Battle to be remembered and I am so grateful to have been a part of it.

 

GM Post

Update: I accidentally grabbed the wrong previous week balance for Seta...Client 24061 when doing his Week 5 balance. He started the week at 1.275 million credits and lost 275,000 for an even balance of 1 million. Bennett apologizes for the error and will probably be tormented in this fashion.

TAG: CPL_Macja

 

IC: Martia Paak
Paak family farm, near Kyrimorut, Manda'yaim. 8 months ago

Martia grunted softly as she worked to push the plow through the hard ground, the noon day sun high above her head. Her family had just purchased this homestead from a local clan and now she was being put to work preparing the fields. Of course they had no beasts of burden and her mother had told her that doing the work herself, without technological aid, would help to strengthen her physically and mentally. So far this was the hardest thing she had ever done in her short twelve years of life.

She wished she could be doing anything else but this right now. Especially playing meshgeroya. Her family had just moved back to manda'yaim, giving her father a nice base of operations for his bounty hunting work, and Martia was ecstatic at getting the chance to see a Mercs game in person. Of course her family hadn't been able to get any tickets yet, they were already sold out for the upcoming season, but maybe the year after that. She wished that her parents would have thought about that when they bought this small parcel of land. Her older brother had told her that it had once been a part of the sprawling Skirata homestead and that her parents had bought this small part of it from the Mercs backup goaltender. The thought that Kii Skirata may have once plowed these fields was enough to make the overworked little girl giddy and so she pressed on.

The plow shook suddenly as it hit something even harder than the earth around it. Another rock the young girl thought to herself. She had run into an amazing number of them in her short time trying to get this field ready for planting. She wiped the sweat from her brow as she dropped plow's rough handles and grabbed the spade (her mother had called it an entrenching tool) from its spot on her belt. Maybe Kii never had plowed these fields after all, it seemed no one had in ages. She began carving away at the loosened earth around the offending object.

Martia made quick work of it. That didn't surprise her, she had been doing this since dawn so she was well practiced by now. But she was surprised as she found out the object wasn't a rock at all. Pulling it from the field she found it was a large, whitish object, discolored from its time spent buried in the soil. She gasped softly as she realized it was a buy'ce, a helmet, buried here for who knew how long. Her first instinct was to turn it over and look inside, wondering if there was a head still in there. But it was only full of smaller rocks and debris, just dirt. Its previous owner must have abandoned it. Who that owner was Martia didn't know. Examining it she noted its T-Visored face plate, similar to, but not the same as that found on a normal Mandalorian buy'ce.

After shaking out the dirt from inside she also noted it was significantly lighter than the beskar helmets her parents and older siblings wore. She brushed aside some of the caked on dirt from its exterior only to find that not all the discoloration was from being buried in mud all these years. For underneath that dirt was the unmistakable form of a human hand print, in blood. She didn't know whose helmet it was, but now she desperately wanted to find out. Her mother would know, she would put money on that. She slid her e-tool back onto her belt and ran towards the small cabin her parents had built, carrying the dirt encrusted relic with her...

---

IC: Jaya "Barefoot" Tam
Riding the pine, Meshla Vhetin, Manda'yaim, Gameday

Tam looked on as the second half of the game started to get away from the Mercs. She still couldn't believe how the league office had punted the bolo-ball and refused to take a stand. She had signed the waiver form that they had sent her and hoped it would be enough to convince the front office to allow her to play. But Coach Vizsla had told her this was a team rule she was violating and that no mere piece of paper would cover that. Since the league office had stated their own policy to not get involved with team rules unless they violated league rules she was stuck, on the bench, for the foreseeable future.

That hurt, but she knew she wasn't the only one feeling the pain right now. the team needed her. She was a reserve carried on the team though she never got any playing time. As the season (and this particular game) wore on it was taking its toll on the Mercs. The spread offense was a physically demanding one, it could wear out the most in shape of players. Without a backup Daryc was starting to lose steam, and it showed on the scoreboard. Tam hid a smile, the Mercs were slowly losing their hold on a playoff spot. Maybe if the coach saw that he would finally relent and let her play. She turned at caught him staring at the field as the final horn sounded, ending the game with a loss to the Senators. The hard look on his face told her not to hold her breath.

---

IC: Beskaryc Taab
MandalMotors Hall, manda'yaim

The vote had been postponed until the final results of the Senators/Mercs match up could be brought in to the conclave. Many here had in fact been watching the game live via holo-net, though Taab had not been among them. Instead he had used his time trying to pick off a few of ordo's supporters. ordo himself was too occupied watching the game.

It must have been odd for him, to root for the team knowing that a win would only strengthen Taab's case, yet the man seemed to be rooting just as hard for the home team as any other Mandalorian. Perhaps he already felt that regardless of the game's outcome his own victory was assured. It was not something that Taab would argue with him, it had been extremely difficult to peel away some of Ordo's supporters, but by the time the vote began he felt he had made a good case and at least some of them had pledged Taab their support.

With the Merc's loss though came the vote, and Taab was sure he might lose a few of those potential swing votes, he hoped he had done enough to finally put this race to an end...

---

IC: Aay'han Vhett
Meshla Vhetin, manda'yaim, following the 34-23 loss to the Senators.

Aay'han Vhett had watched the defeat with a very special guest in the owner's box. A young girl from manda'yaim's northern stretches had found a most curious object, and now it would play its part in the post game drama. The young mando'ad had hardly been able to conceal her excitement as she took in everything from the match to the crowd to the uj cake served in the box. It was all so wonderful for her and her family who had not been able to score tickets of their own this season.

The item she had found was being kept safe, hidden from the view of the holo-cams that had no doubt caught sight of Vhett and her guests, guests whose presence had not been explained to the media. Now with game over it was time for explanations.

Vhett took the old buy'ce and made her way out to midfield. By the time she got there the usual post game handshakes had all been taken care of, but the players milled about their respective sidelines wondering what the Merc's GM was up to. And asking themselves why Vhett had an old helmet balanced in the crook of her arm. Wearing her own buy'ce Vhett began to speak, her voice amplified through a link between it's systems and the PA system of the gargantuan stadium.

"Fellow mando'ade, guests and fans of our beautiful game. Meshgeroya is time honored love for all of us here in attendance today, it binds us together as fans not only of our favorite teams but of the game itself." The crowd cheered, though they mostly wondered what the wily old GM was up to. "The people of Coruscant have many other ties that bind them to the mando'ade though. Our fore bearers, the ancient Taung were once of Coruscant before being forced off world through war and bloodshed. Their exile led to our nomadic nature, and our adoption of this place as our new home world. Without Coruscant, there would be no mando'ade." The crowd which had beat on their armored chests at the mention of the Taung were silent at that, unsure of just what to say or do.

"And we have repaid the Coruscanti for this a thousand times over, fighting both against them and along side them in countless wars over thousands of years." The crowd began to cheer again, but slightly more subdued this time. "One such conflict began nearly 300 years ago was fought by the Coruscanti, the Republic using the genome of one of our very own, a mand'alor, Jango Fett." The stadium rocked at the man's name, still revered after all these centuries. "Some of those wayward beings play for us to this day, the pride of the Mercs." The roaring got even louder.

"Many of those Clone troopers died in service to a Republic that they neither knew nor loved, because it was their job. And for that they are to be commended and remembered." Naturally she left out the role they played in overthrowing that same Republic, this was to be a "happy" speech for all involved after all. "But at the end of the war, with darkness in sight many Clone troopers deserted the Grand Army of the Republic and settled here for a time being, exploring their roots. A safe haven was established for them in the northern wilds, and many of their descendants live there until this very day." Chants of Mando'ade began to rain down from the stands.

Vhett raised the old helmet over her head now, allowing the crowd to see what it was. "Earlier this year, a young girl found this troopers buy'ce buried in field on her families farm. Who it came from, why it was left there, we don;t know, and never will. But it was found stained with the blood of a clone trooper. Blood spilled on behalf of the citizens of Coruscant. Blood spilled on behalf of the Republic. Blood spilled on behalf of his vode (brothers/sisters)." The stadium, became silent once more.

"In honor of their hard fought victory here today we return this "bloody bucket" to the people of Coruscant, that they may too remember the shared sacrifices we have made. But know this, next season when we go to Coruscant, we intend to take it back." The crowd erupted into loud cheering once more as Vhett waited for someone from the Senators organization to meet her at midfield to claim their prize.

TAG: Jedi Gunny

 

IC: Jhym Ro’meo
CHS Sports minute, CHS Sport net

“Rumor has it that Setarcos Rhemes, General Manager and Head Coach of the Rydonni Prime Monarchs, is a betting man. Well his most recent gamble of sitting three of his draft picks and starting free agents in their place seemed to have paid off. The most shocking of them all was the swapping of the second overall pick, Cora Xux, for an undrafted free agent, Sugnok Umanh. The 272 graduate of the University of Be’Nal entered the draft that year, but was left on the board. There were whispers that if the Monarchs had made it into the playoffs last season they would have picked him up to fill the void for the injury plagued Staweh-Tam Ford. For now Umanh is playing for his professional career and wagering that the cards will come up Aces.

I’m Jhym Ro’meo and this has been a CHS Sports minute.”
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
IC: Setarcos Rhemes
Monarchs/Patriots Post-Match, The Grande Villa

The Head Coach looked tired. The match had been close the whole way through and if his defense had not have finally come up with three big turnovers that resulted in goals in the final minutes of the game they would have probably been looking at a third straight defeat. As he looked out at the reporters, they all waited for him to start. “I know in the past after a big win against one of conference foes would have warranted a big production from me, but not today. We won against a phenomenal team. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the Patriots, perhaps it’s because I was a member of the Patriot Nation when I was a kid. But in all honesty, they are one of the Big Four and continue to be a class act in Limmie.”

“Coach? Why do you think that your defense, which looked impressive in non-conference play, has suddenly fallen to pieces?”

“Well, Jhym, Solo Conference limmie is a completely different style of limmie. Our youth and speed matched up well against the Starkillers and the Jets. However when we started playing against the Big Kids, they were causing our youngsters to overcommit on plays which in turn left Mara stranded on an island.”

“So, besides overcommitting, what does your young backfield need to work on in preparation for the Senators?”

“For starters they need to step up their hits. By doing this we increase our chances of forcing turnovers and cutting down on the shots on goal that Mara has to face. She alone is the reason we have not seen scores in the 50s or even the 60s. At times she has had to literally stand on her head to keep us in these matches. Plus, this week, our top goal scorer, Vesper Lynd, added another dimension to her game by leading in assists. Today the path to the goal seemed to run from Laura to Ema to Vesper to Windy.”

“Ford left the match early and seemed to be having his shoulders worked on on the sidelines, has he re-aggravated one of his past injuries?”

“No, he just started feeling a little tight towards the end of the match, so he’ll probably start on the bench next week against the Senators. We’ll shift Umanh back to Fullback, with Ping on his flank opposite Helios, and bring Xux back in to fill the center void.”

“So your strategy to slow down the third best offense in the league is to throw four rookies at them?”

“Absolutely. I feel that we will be fielding the best team for the task.”

“And what task would that be?”

A sly smile spread across Setarcos’s face, “Proving that we are the best limmie squad in the Core. We’ve taken down the Starkillers and the Patriots, now we’re going to war against the Senators!”

TAG: Jedi Gunny

 

Aquamarine Bay, Chandrila



To have flown halfway across the galaxy from Nar Shaddaa to Bakura only to shortly thereafter get on a shuttle to go all the way into the Core to Chandrila seemed patently ridiculous to Ayn. Accordingly, she did the most logical thing: she decided to take a vacation on the bucolic world. And one couldn’t just go to Chandrila and stay anywhere? A seaside vacation was most definitely needed. Did the Aquamarine Bay Resort charge a bit more for its amenities than Ayn should have paid? Perhaps, but what was the point of going on vacation if you weren’t going to enjoy yourself fully? And how could you enjoy yourself fully if you didn’t have a private beach on which to lay?

That was precisely what Ayn was doing. She tried not to think about the fact that her fair skin, shielded from UV rays by Bakura’s clouds and rain, made her stick out like a Wookiee amongst a bunch of Ugnaughts. She did what any sensible human female would do: put on a pair of giant sunglasses and slather sunblock over her entire body. Showing up to the Miners game looking like she was born in the Red Nebula wasn’t going to look very good.

The fact that Ayn got to lie on the beach, drink fruity alcoholic beverages (well, they were only alcoholic if she told them to double the amount of alcohol in them), and let the galaxy pass her by. Chandrila was overwhelmingly human like Bakura, but they still had a larger non-human population than Ayn’s homeworld. As a result she got to see various species amble by on the beach. She had fun trying to figure out which ones would turn and gaze upon her bikini-clad body. (She tried not to feel offended that Wookiees were utterly uninterested in her. Then again, she was rather short compared to a Wookiee so it probably wasn’t anything too personal.)

More than anything else on her vacation, Ayn thought about the last time she’d seen Declan. Had his manner towards her been warming up? Maybe. That begged the question of what had happened at that dinner with Madsen and Durst. All she knew is that it seemed like she had an opportunity and she needed to follow it up. Soon she would have to take decisive action—action that if it came too early would ruin everything. If it came too late…then it would be too late.

It was as simple as that.

“Another drink, miss?” a server asked.

“Please,” Ayn said, placing her empty glass on the offered tray.

---

Stoney End Park, Hanna City, Chandrila

One of the peculiar features of Stoney End was how small it was. Chandrila had a larger population than Bakura, but Bakura Gardens had several thousands of seats on Stoney End. The Patriots’ home stadium had stood for hundreds of years, when limmie was not such a galactic phenomenon. For its time Stoney End had been an absolute monument to the sport. Now it was quaintly small. Yet Stoney End Park was a veritable cathedral of limmie. The stones and durasteel were holy ground. The Patriot Nation would not suffer it to be changed or expanded. It was theirs and they would protect it with the fierceness of a vornskr protecting its pups.

Case and point, despite the fact there were indeed private boxes at Stoney End, there were no VIP entrances other than the players’ entrance that team officials could use. This put Ayn in her yellow shirt and blue skirt sorely out of place amongst the white and green. The Patriots and Miners had instituted a reciprocal visiting ticket agreement many seasons ago that reserved a certain number of seats for Miner fans at Stoney End when the teams played (and vice versa at the Gardens) so Ayn was not totally alone in the crowd, even if the Patriot Nation had overwhelming numbers.

She stepped into the lift for the boxes, which was manned by a droid.

“Hold the lift!”

An arm shot out before the doors could close and was followed by a tall human sliding quickly into the lift.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cundertol,” Ayn said.

Quinn Cundertol turned as the lift doors shut. “Miss Dormingale,” he replied curtly.

“I didn’t know you were aware of me,” Ayn said.

“It’s my job to be aware of everyone in the Chancellor’s box,” Cundertol said just as shortly without looking at Ayn.

They said nothing for a second but watched the floor numbers ascend.

“You know, I didn’t have a problem with your Grames speech,” Ayn said, purposefully keeping Cundertol only in the periphery of her vision.

The General Manager turned his head ever so slightly as the lift began to slow. “You would be one of the few.”

“To be a really good limmie team, I think someone has to be a real son of a voxyn,” Ayn said casually. On an impulse that she couldn’t rightly identify, Ayn reached up to his sharp cheekbones and put one hand against the side of his face. “But I suspect that doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

The lift doors opened and they stood there for a second before Cundertol moved his head and Ayn’s hand fell away. “A…pleasure, Miss Dormingale,” he said before stepping out of the lift

“Indeed, Mr. Cundertol,” Ayn said.

They went their separate ways.

As Ayn entered the visiting owner’s box, it seemed she was one of the last to arrive. It appeared they had another visitor this week as well.

“Ah! Ayn, lovely to see you. May I present the Speaker of the Chandrilan House? Even he has trouble getting Patriot tickets so I decided to extend him the courtesy of joining us today,” Kerry said.

“Welcome, Mr. Speaker,” Ayn said, shaking his hand, “I hope the Miners will be able to show you some real limmie today.”

The Speaker laughed. “I was just telling the same to the Chancellor here. Except, if you ask me, for that you’ll have to head out to Serenity to see the Rovers play.”

“Now now Mr. Speaker,” Kerry chided with a wag of the finger, “We’re quite the Bak10 partisans here. I think that this year’s Helmsman nominations will prove that, won’t it?”

“Mommmmmmm,” Falene said with a roll of her eyes, “I told you. Winning the Helmsman would be great, but we’re a team. I wouldn’t be anything without the rest of the back six.”

“If the Coruscant Athletic Club heard that you’d be a sure nominee,” the Speaker said, “Humility goes far with the voters. Why, our very own Max Qorbus was just such a team player. And look how well he’s done for himself…well, at least before he was traded to the Senators anyways. Force help him now.”

“Maker protect us all from such terror,” Regan said with mock piety.

“Luckily I don’t think Falene will fall prey to such a terrible fate,” Kerry said, stroking her daughter’s hair with a motherly touch.

“Mom, you know I can’t talk about that until I graduate,” Falene said.

“Of course,” Kerry said, “We’re just glad that you had a bye week and could join us for the game.”

Ayn drifted away from the gaggle to find Declan, who was oddly not a part of the conversation. Instead he was sitting in the seats at the front of the box watching the warm up.

“Hey there,” she said, taking a seat next to him.

“Oh, hi,” he said, suddenly mustering a smile.

“You okay?” Ayn asked with sudden intuition.

“Yeah, great,” he said. She wasn’t totally convinced. “Good flight out?”

“More like good vacation,” Ayn said, “Did you go back?”

“Yeah, stuff in the Valley had to be done. But good for you getting in some nice rest. Tell me about it…”

---

GM Post/IC Post

Down on the field two old competitors met at midfield to shake hands. Reina Kether and Gaeriel Valerii had played against each other in the late 240s and early 250s. In fact, they’d met in the Final in 252 when Valerii won her first of two Galactic Cups.

“Gaeriel, it’s good to see you again,” Reina said.

“Same, Reina. You’ve done all right for yourself it seems,” Gaeriel said.

“Just a Premiership. Nothing like a Galactic Cup as a coach,” the redhead said, “What’s that now? Three for you?”

“It would be,” Gaeriel replied.

“Well, some of us didn’t need to turn to coaching to win a third Cup,” Kether said, a veiled reference to how she’d won her Cups.

“Some of us actually close the deal more than they lose,” Gaeriel said, a clear reference to the fact that Kether had lost four Finals during Kether’s career, whereas Valerii had never lost in the Final as a player or coach.

“Well, at least we knew how to win a playoff game at home,” Kether said archly.

“I always like seeing you, Reina,” Gaeriel said as they shook hands again. This time each gripped the other’s hand like a vise. “Friendliest rivalry in limmie, am I right?”

“Couldn’t be sweeter,” Reina said with a smile.

“I can think of one thing,” Valerii said, “Beating your sorry tail into the turf today.”

“Bring it on.”

---

IC: Ayn Dormingale

Ayn sipped her drink as she considered a holo on her datapad. It was of Regan Eldred and Kerry Trieste jointly lifting the Galactic Cup of Limmie. Declan came up next to her and looked over her shoulder at the image.

“Now that’s a Cup I actually remember,” Declan said, “259. I was ten years old at the time.”

“So was I,” Ayn said, “I remember it too.” She turned to face Declan. “I just have one question—why is your Aunt Regan holding the Cup with your mother? The Noble House had full control of the team, right? She didn't own any part of the team, did she?”

Declan’s eyes darted elsewhere in the box. Ayn decided not to turn around and see who he’d looked at. She’d figure it out later.

“That’s a story that isn’t mine to tell…” Declan said hesitantly.

“It would be mine,” Regan said from behind Ayn.

Dormingale turned to face the Justice. “I’ll just be going,” Declan said, slipping away.

“Though my sister and I are on very good terms now, it wasn’t that way when we were younger,” Regan said, drawing Ayn to a secluded part of the box where they could be private, “In fact, I committed a cardinal sin out of anger and jealousy.”

“You did?” Ayn said with noticeable surprise.

“Yes,” Regan confirmed.

“What?” Ayn asked before she could stop herself, “I mean, if you want to—”

Regan waved a hand. “I did the one thing that is unforgiveable in the Noble House. I took sides against the family.”

---

252 ABY
Atalanta Convention Center, Atalanta, Bakura



Regan Trieste was standing backstage, in shell shock. Today had looked like it might be the best day of her life. Instead it was going to be the worst.

Three years ago, the 26 year old Regan, freshly graduated from the prestigious Coruscant College of Law, had realized that time was not on her side. Her eldest sister, Kerry, was experiencing a meteoric rise in the Bakuran Senate. With a four year head start on Regan, Kerry was further in her career than Regan was. Throw in four years of law school and Regan had little in the way of formal accomplishments in life. For any regular being, this would be a non-issue.

Regan Trieste, however, wanted to be the next Taoiseach of the Noble House.

Kerry’s political career then had only been speculative. Regan had preemptively tried to fight fire with fire by becoming District Attorney of Salis D’aar—the highest prosecutor on the entire planet. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. In the last year, however, Kerry had mounted a run for the Fianna Fail nomination for Prime Minister. If she won, she would certainly become the next Taoiseach.

There was only one option for Regan: she had to make sure Kerry didn’t win.

To that end she had enlisted Orn Captison, another Bakuran Senator, as a candidate for the nomination. Former Prime Minister Indra Equus’s husband, Senator Kirk Equus, had also entered the ring and the three has successfully split the primaries, resulting in a deadlocked convention. Things were thrown into pure chaos when Governor Athena Arden of Watercrest county had announced that she would be a candidate for the nomination after the first ballot, which produced no nominee. Ever since the Arden nomination, a successful bid for Kerry had looked less and less likely, despite Senator Siona’s own efforts on behalf of her sister.

Kerry had taken the lectern yesterday, supposedly to endorse either Equus or Arden at the urging of the party leaders. Instead she’d delivered the speech of her young career. That had set of a wave of support for Trieste's very-not-dead candidacy. Shortly thereafter, the Bakuran Educators Union swung their support to Kerry, joining the stampede of delegates for Trieste.

This morning Kerry’s defeat, and therefore Regan’s success, was assured. Now it was shattered. She had lost. There would be no comeback for Regan, no miraculous speech. No. Regan Trieste knew that she would never be Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste now. It didn’t matter when her sister would be given that honor. Regan knew with every fiber of her being now that she would never receive it.

Part of her wanted to cry, but the rest of her held that impulse in check. Now was not the time for tears. She was still a member of the Noble House, and that meant that today she was happy—no, elated—for her sister, who would shortly accept the nomination of Fianna Fail. Though Regan’s knees wanted to shake, she stood tall. No daughter of Fionn and Jane Trieste would ever let herself break the façade.

“Regan.”

The lawyer turned and found Kerry standing there, dressed smartly in a professional attire befitting a Prime Ministerial candidate. Regan had to admit that Kerry looked good in a business skirt.

“Congratulations Kerry,” Regan said, “Go knock them dead.”

“I will,” Kerry said as they embraced, for perhaps a second longer than Regan would have liked.

Regan could hear their father speaking before the convention, and she knew that soon Kerry would step out before the convention. There was a moment of silence between the two that Regan opened her mouth to fill.

Instead, Kerry took Regan’s head in her hands and drew a shocked Regan into a kiss. “I know what you did, Regan,” Kerry whispered, her hands still around Regan’s head, “You broke my heart. You broke my heart.”

Kerry let go and Regan staggered backwards, unable to say anything. She braced herself against the first thing she could find, for now her knees were weak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next Prime Minister of Bakura, Kerry Wyvern Trieste.”

With a final look, Kerry turned and walked out from behind the stage to face the convention with a broad, genuine smile meant not for her youngest sister, but for the people of Bakura.

---

Despite the fact that her grandmother had to have had a front row seat to these party politics, Ayn had never heard any of this. It was nothing short of stunning. She knew how Kerry had won in 252, but she hadn’t known about the fact that it had been Regan who had thrown Captison in the race to start. After her victory, Kerry had made Captison Chancellor of the Exchequer, a position he had filled very ably.

Ayn wasn’t sure what to say after hearing this. “But…how did you reconcile?”

Regan’s eyes slid across the room. Ayn turned her head and she found that Regan was looking at her husband.

---

Truce Day, 254 ABY
Salis D’aar, Bakura

Atticus Eldred and Regan Trieste sat wordlessly at their kitchen table. There was no reason in the galaxy why Regan should still have been there. Neither of them touched the food or drink that was on the table.

“Your father is dying,” Atticus said, breaking a heavy silence that had sat for what seemed like hours. Neither of them knew for sure if it actually had been that long. It was entirely possible it had been.

“So they say,” Regan said simply as she sipped her tea.

“What are you doing here then?”

“There is no place for me in that household. That was made clear to me long ago when they persecuted me for taking sides and losing,” Regan said bitterly.

“Kerry and Siona did that to you, not your father,” Atticus said.

“My father celebrated my siblings and their accomplishments while I was given a pat on the head for a job well done and nothing more,” Regan shot back, long-simmering anger boiling over. Whether or not what Regan was saying was true didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that she had effectively ceased to be a member of the Trieste family two years ago. “Fionn Trieste, the second founder of Bakura. Ha. He was a man like every other.”

Atticus was quiet for a moment. “I will only say this once Regan. You will loathe yourself for the rest of your life if you do not go to your father now. And you will never see me again.”

Quietly, without anger or grandiosity, Atticus got up from the table and put on a jacket. He left the apartment, shutting the door behind him after a moment’s pause.

Regan sat at the table, still as the grave.

---

Truce Day. Bakura’s most celebrated holiday. It was no ordinary Truce Day, but the 250th anniversary of the Rebel Alliance’s truce with the Empire at Bakura to fight the Ssi-Ruuk. But now it seemed hollow as Fionn Trieste lay gravely ill.

Jane Trieste and six of her children sat around the bed in the great bedroom of Kilmainham Brook in which Fionn Trieste lay, the bed in which he would die. The doctors had said he would not live the day, this semiquincentennial of Truce Day, and they had all gathered to be with their father in this moment, perhaps just as much for themselves as for him. Those who had married into the family—Mihal Connair, Dorian Lynd, Galen Westenra, Mandy Syfred, Verity Vehn—had all said their goodbyes and now waited together in the family room of the great house, letting Fionn’s children have their last moment together.

Fiona had left her command to be here. Kerry and Siona had abandoned the government in their grief. Ronan and Oisin had traveled lightyears to be by their father’s side. Each had said their tender goodbyes to their father. Though nothing was left unsaid between any of them and the patriarch of the Noble House of Trieste, all of the children were in various states of discomposure. Of Fionn’s grandchildren, only Declan was old enough to comprehend the situation and he was with his mother, the lone grandchild among them. Jane was holding her husband’s hand now that her present children had each had their final moment with their father.

“Jane…can it be?” Fionn breathed as he looked into his wife’s eyes, “It was not so long ago that we were at Republica House, or when the war ended…”

“No, not so long indeed,” Jane said with a smile.

“I am sorry Jane. I wish…” Fionn’s voice trailed off, unable to finish even that sentence. He didn’t need to.

“Wait for me, Fionn,” Jane whispered. She bent and gave her husband a final kiss.

It was only a second after that touching, final expression of the love that had bound Fionn and Jane together for 40 years that everyone’s head snapped around as the doors to the chamber were thrown open and Regan rushed through them to her father’s side. Regan knelt next to the bed and took his hand quickly as her siblings looked on, Kerry and Siona speechless.

“Father, oh Father. It’s Regan, it’s Regan,” the youngest daughter said, her guilt turning into hysteria.

Fionn turned his head slowly and laid eyes on his youngest daughter. “Regan…oh Regan.”

“Forgive me Father, forgive me,” Regan said as tears began to well in her eyes.

“Regan…you are here. Now I can die in peace, for now my life is blessed,” Fionn said as he weakly grasped his daughter’s hand in return.

“No Father, no, you can’t die. Not now, not after everything I’ve done to you,” Regan sobbed, “I have been the most worthless of daughters. Forgive me for my vanity and pride, which has kept me from you.”

“There is nothing to forgive Regan, for I have always held you to my heart. Nothing ever changed that,” Fionn said as his hand went slack within his daughter’s. It had life in it still, but not much.

As Regan held her father’s weak hand, weeping against it as she knelt by his deathbed, no one dared speak. However, something stirred within Oisin at that moment. In addition to his poetry, he had been gifted with a tenor voice, which he lifted into song, mingled with his sister’s sobs.



Conn Trieste held back tears as his brother sang the old lament. When the room was once more silent, Regan’s tears falling noiselessly as if they knew that they should dare not follow such beauty, it remained that way for a few minutes until the silence was interrupted by the Fionn himself.

“Few and hard have been the years of my life, and they cannot compare with those of my forefathers,” Fionn said softly, but clearly. His eyes then closed and his life left him.

The Trieste children bowed their heads—Conn silently weeping, Siona burying her head in her hands, Kerry trying in vain to stifle her own tears, Fiona turning her head to hide her tears, Ronan sitting, his strength leaving him, as he realized his father would not breathe again. Jane after a moment went slowly to the window and threw open the curtains, letting sunlight stream into the room. Her mouth opened, but she said nothing. No tear streamed from her eyes, but one hand extended forth and steadied her against the pane, warmed by sun’s rays. It was Oisin who came to her and put his hand on her shoulder, which she took and clutched, still silent.

But nothing about the scene was more heart wrenching than the wailing of Regan between her tears. “Father! Oh my Father! Maker forgive the sins of an ungrateful daughter! My Father, I did not know you!”

Faced with the agony of the sister she had spurned, Kerry fled the room, now freely crying herself, unable to watch further. However, her son, young Declan Trieste, remained, strangely composed. It was he who went to his sobbing aunt and took her hand.

“It’s all right Aunt Regan,” he said softly. Regan clutched her nephew to her bosom as she shook with silent tears.

“So passes Fionn Trieste, son of Lennon and Maeve Trieste, eighth Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste,” Jane said softly, looking out the window, adding after a pause, “My husband.”

---

“I was stupid and vain,” Regan said bitterly, her anger directed at herself, “Atticus was right. I would have never forgiven myself. I still don’t. But it would have been worse if I hadn’t been there.”

“So you and Kerry made up after that?” Ayn asked.

“It was a slow process. A very slow process,” Regan said, “She came to realize that she had been too harsh. I had to reconcile myself to the fact that I had been a traitor. There are no two ways about it. I was a traitor and I have worked every day to repair my fault. In time, we mended. Before she ran for Chancellor, Kerry named me to the Supreme Court, which cost her all the political capital she had to put her sister on the bench. It was her peace offering to me.”

Ayn remembered that confirmation fight well. It had cost her grandmother many sleepless nights. “But how does limmie work into it?” Ayn asked.

“It was the first time Kerry showed me that she had begun to trust me again…”

---

256 ABY
The West Office, Executive Mansion, Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Regan was ushered into the West Office by Kerry’s private secretary. It was late at night, but that was perhaps to be expected. The Bakuran Civil War was on and second term Prime Minister Kerry Trieste was having to work very late indeed.

“Regan, come in,” Kerry said, barely looking up from her work.

“You asked for me?”

“Yes, have a seat,” Kerry said, putting her work aside and coming around her desk to sit on one of the couches inside the office, “This is a House matter.”

The Honorable Regan Eldred, recently married and even more recently appointed judge of the Superior Court of the County of Salis D’aar had not exactly relaxed in the office of the Prime Minister—who could knowing what it represented—but she still straightened a bit. Kerry Trieste had never consulted her on Noble House business since becoming Taoiseach, even after their rift had been healed.

“How may I help?”

“The Civil War is going to occupy a great deal of my attention, if not all of it,” Kerry said, “I have delegated financial matters to Ronan to ease my other burden, but there is one thing I won’t give him. I need someone to manage the Miners until the war is over.” Regan didn’t speak—she let the Prime Minister come to it herself.

“I want you to be Chairwoman of the Miners until hostilities are concluded.”

Regan paused. She knew she shouldn’t ask it, but she also knew she had to. “Why me?”

“Siona will be completely absorbed by the war, so will Fiona. Conn—ugh.” Kerry shuddered. Their eldest brother might be more responsible since wedding Nessarose, but he was nowhere near trustworthy enough to manage the crown jewel of the Noble House’s holdings. “Ronan is out—I won’t have his Demon loving wife meddling in the Miners and the same goes for Oisin with Verity. A Vehn a stone’s throw from the Miners’ board? Unconscionable—and quite possibly in violation of the Board of Governors constitution.”

“So then it has to be me,” Regan said. It was not exactly a vote of confidence.

“It does,” Kerry said, “Then again, who better to manage the Miners than a judge with a reputation for being sage and fair? I’ve always been a supporter of the rule of law and our judicial process.”

Regan gave her sister a knowing smile. “When you put it that way…”

“I do,” Kerry said as she stood and extended her hand. Regan followed suit and took the hand. “Don’t wreck my team, Regan.”

“Your little war has cost us some of our better players.” It was true—the Miners had lost some high profile talent who hailed from the Maple counties that would no longer play for the Prime Minister’s team. “I’ve got work to do.”

---

259 ABY
Denon Gardens, Denon

Kerry Trieste did not allow herself to go to many road games for the Miners with a war going on. Though communication throughout the galaxy was near instantaneous, it just didn’t look good for her to leave the shop unattended for a sporting event. Of course, when that event was the Bakura Miners playing in the Galactic Cup Final, Kerry would have cared less if anyone had objected. She was still going.

Nobody did object since the Miners were so insanely popular on Bakura. Even the Maple Flag Republic’s highest officials were pulling for the team--quietly--despite their Federal ownership. They were just that big. The fact that this was their first trip to the Galactic Cup Final since their championship seven years earlier only made it all the bigger. Accordingly, the Triestes were out in force with their blue and gold to join their fellow Bakurans on Denon. The fact that their opponents were the Nar Shaddaa Smugglers raised the stakes even higher. Not only was it a major sports rivalry, but the Vehns had been the driving force behind the RTO, whose growth had made them into a real Outer Rim force. With Bakura as one of the strongest economies in the Outer Rim and loudest voices in the Republic, the pair constituted two of the biggest forces in the galaxy that hailed from the Outer Rim. It was a clash of the titans on a couple different levels.

Kerry was wearing her green carnation as a Fiann Fail candidate for the 260 elections, for which she had already announced her candidacy for an unprecedented third term. “You know, the last time these guys were in the Final, you had one of those too,” Conn observed.

“I’d prefer a little more frequency for the Miners than every eight years, but we’ll get by,” Kerry said, “How nice of Nessa to join us today.”

Nessarose just shot her sister in-law a withering look that said, “Don’t even dare go further than that.” The Miners had beaten the Patriots last week at Stoney End. Nessa had been elected to the Board of Governors of the Patriots organization a couple of years earlier. The loss to the Miners in the so-called "Friendliest Rivalry in the Galaxy" had not gone down well on Chandrila.

“One way or another we were going to be here,” Ronan observed idly, commenting on the presence of his wife and himself. He and Mandy both resided on her native Denon thanks to Ronan's position with the Eden Banking Group.

“Do not start that again,” Mandy warned him, “We agreed we weren’t going to talk about it anymore.”

“The worst part of it is that it’s the Smugglers in the Final,” Nessa said, deciding to make that the sum total of her comments.

“Quite to the contrary, it’s rather nice to have Verity and the gang here, even if they did insist on being in the other box,” Fiona said, “It’s going to be all the more enjoyable when we pound them into the ground.”

“Overconfidence gets you nowhere,” Siona said to her elder sister as she handed Fiona a drink.

“I disagree. Fighter pilots are taught to be overconfident. It keeps us alive,” Fiona said. Of course, being a fighter pilot had cost Fiona one of her legs a few years earlier. It had not been pretty. Then again, Fiona's career as a BakurStar commander had been quite decorated thus far in the Civil War. She seemed to be doing all right for herself.

“And politicians never should be,” Siona said, “How we’re twins is beyond me.”

“Maker bless our Mom and Dad,” Ronan said, “What a gene pool those two combined for.”

“Here here,” was the toast.

“Too bad Oisin went to the dark side for the game,” Conn said.

“He has to go home with Verity, not us,” Kerry sagely pointed out, “I think he knows where his bread is buttered, though we can all be certain of who he’s pulling for.”

“He better be pulling for us. I do not understand why the Smugglers top out on attendance every season,” Regan, Chairwoman of the Miners, said as she came into the box, “Just because they’ve got 50,000 seats more than the Gardens. We should really consider expanding the grounds.”

“We are not going to expand Bakura Gardens,” Kerry said firmly, “It’s fine as it is. It’s not like we’ve only got 45,000 seats or anything.”

“Oh really now. We had to go there,” Nessa said, reacting to the very obvious barb to the incredibly small number of seats at Stoney End compared to other limmie stadiums, “You’re just jealous you’ve only hosted one Final.”

“Ummm…can anybody please point out where we are right now? I mean, this is a pretty chill luxury box,” Mandy pointed out.

Before things could escalate further, Fiona said, “The game’s about to start.”

“Wonderful,” Kerry said as the Noble House of Trieste took their seats.

It was a heck of a game, with no team ever leading by more than three points. When the dust settled the final score was Miners 18, Smugglers 15. When Regan and Kerry jointly lifted the Galactic Cup, the smiles on their faces were about a mile wide.

---

Salis D'aar, Bakura

The Galactic Cup victory parade was something that Bakura sorely needed. With almost four years of war having ravaged the planet, people needed something to feel good about. Being the galactic champions of Limmie fit the bill. Though it had only been seven years ago that the Miners last held the Galactic Cup on high, it felt like an age.

The parade through the streets of Salis D’aar turned out everyone who could possible get away from work. Entire businesses closed up show for the event—except for the bars which were not about to let a golden business day like this slip by them. Every single member of the team was a hero from the retiring Gaeriel Valerii to the rookie Jed Ortmeyer who had joined the team midseason. Ortmeyer brought along the Ingbrand Award for good measure.

Of course, when the Prime Minister of Bakura was also in the parade, it was hard to point to a bigger hero. It was simply fortuitous that she should benefit from this surge in popularity right before another election. Naturally, Kerry Trieste was going to make the most of the moment.

“This Galactic Cup isn’t for me or for this team that beat the odds to win it,” Kerry said, “It’s for all of Bakura. One day soon, I will lift this Cup over my head in the streets of Nouvelle Orleans and in the halls of Valemont”— a reference to the capital of the Maple Flag Republic “—and then we shall truly have cause to celebrate.”

The Elite League did not allow the Galactic Cup to be used for political purposes and sent a strong warning to the Miners that under no circumstances was the Prime Minister to do so. The Miners returned an official reply that, “Prime Minister Trieste would not allow the League to deny the entire planet of Bakura the opportunity to revel in the victory that their team had won. The Prime Minister would, if convenient, take the Galactic Cup to other cities on the planet.” The League replied by threatening to fine the Noble House of Trieste for misconduct if she did anything of the sort.

Kerry simply kept her checkbook close at hand.

---

“And that’s the story,” Regan finished.

“That was very…personal,” Ayn said, “Thank you.”

“You’ll find that everything is personal when you touch the Noble House,” Regan said, “Everything.”

TAG: Jedi Gunny for brief college limmie discussion

 

IC: Gark S’rily
Senators Team HQ

Gark walked down the hallway towards the break room. He needed to unwind after a long day of sitting in his office looking over files. It was one of those things that, as GM, he needed to complete, and it was mentally taxing.

As he made it to the break room, he could feel a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see the old man from the video room downstairs. It was odd; Gark almost never went down there, so he hadn’t seen this man in ages. “I have something you might want to see,” the old man said.

He then led Gark down to the basement, which was nothing to really see unless you were there to view footage of old games. The place had gotten considerably dustier, so Gark knew that it was going to be time to have the place cleaned off, if not cleaned out. How much film did they need on players who no longer were alive? Surely a 209 Senators highlight reel could be ditched? Then they made it to the small office that the man worked at, and he opened the door. “Found this the other day while cleaning,” he said. He then picked up a silver trophy, covered in grime and dust but still otherwise intact.

“What is it?” Gark asked.

“I’m not quite sure,” the man commented. “If it was used for anything in the past, I certainly haven’t heard anything about it in all my years here. You think you might have a use for it?”

Gark pondered this thought. He had no need for a trophy . . . or did he? On second thought, he had a press conference coming up, and this trophy might be of some use to him . . .

---

Senators Press Room

Gark sat in front of a packed house of reporters during the press conference. There really wasn’t much to say at these events; it was mostly just a bunch of questions about the next game on the schedule.

“What is your plan for winning the game this week?” asked a reporter.

“I’m going to let the coaching staff figure that out,” Gark replied.

“Sir, Coach Rhemes of the Monarchs has gone out in the press and ‘declared war’ on the Senators. How will you respond to this statement?”

Gark shrugged. “It won’t affect how we play our game this next week,” he commented. There was a pause after he said this. “However, I have something here . . .” he bent down and picked up the silver trophy, placing it on the table next to him. The photographers instantly zoomed in on it. “Since we seem to have picked up rivalries with the rest of the Conference by now, I have decided that the winner of this week’s game will receive this trophy right here. I hear that Rhemes is a betting man; I’ll provide the jackpot this time, and we’ll see how it goes. Getting a rivalry going between our two teams would be mutually beneficial, and would definitely foster interest in Limmie in the Core.”

“This means that you are rivals with every team in the conference. Are you sure this is a good action to undertake?”

“We’ve already been in intense grudge matches in this conference for the last two years, so this is really not a departure from that. There is just a trophy at stake this time instead of bragging rights alone.”


The gauntlet had been thrown down. The winner of the game that weekend would take home the newly-christened Sector Cup. The media, when they picked up on this, instantly named the series the “Core War”, which made three Wars for the Senators. But Gark didn’t really mind, because all conference games in the Solo were already rivalries in intensity, so nothing was going to change except the addition of a trophy. He even heard rumors that Chandrila was going to introduce a rivalry trophy for the Revolutionary War game in two weeks, so the trend around the league seemed to be towards trophies and hardware. It seemed like an aspect of the college game was finally making its entrance to the pro game in grand fashion. First the Old Rosewood Gavel, then the Bloody Bucket, and now the Sector Cup. Things were shifting in the Solo Conference.

TAG: CPL_Macja

 

Karmich Industries corporate headquarters, Bin Prime, Balmorra

As the early morning rays of Balmorra’s sun shone through the transparasteel windows of the Executive Offices of Karmich Industries, Gina Cabna walked in to begin her day. “The meeting has already started,” her chiss assistant informed her.

“What meeting?” Gina inquired as she handed her her overcoat. The chiss could not meet Gina’s gaze and watched as the CEO of KI and GM of the Blasters turned towards the double doors of the Board Room. She confidently strode in, pushing the doors aside, and found the table occupied by the Blasters field management team along with the top executives from Balmorra Arms, the Blasters former corporate sponsors.

Walking around the table, handing out various documents, was a familiar face to the Blasters organization. “Ejo Sephi. I seem to remember replacing you?” She said to the former General Manager.

“You did,” Ejo replied as he started handing out documents as he was before, “I got another job… yours.”

Gina continued to walk into the room towards Ejo, “On whose authority?”

Private airspeeder of Kalin K’ntarr, Byblos City, Byblos

Kalin was on his way to pick up Lady Thara, they had agreed to a prearranged luncheon with her family. “The successful merger of Rythani Labs and Byblos RepulsorDrive into RepulsorDrive Labs may have made the headlines here sir,” his driver said as he passed back another datapad to Kalin, “But your cousin led off the news back home.”

The young Rydonnian grinned as he looked down at the title of the article on the pad.

Royal Families Come to a Consensus
The pronouncement of Princess Naathe to succeed her recently departed father was one for the history books. The Princess will be allowed to retain the crown, so long as she has found and wed a suitable suitor within one local orbital period. If she should fail at this task the throne would pass to the Duke and Duchess of Rythii, who are expecting their first child….

Kalin’s reading was interrupted by the chiming of his comlink, “Kalin K’ntarr.”

“What makes you think you can decide who’s running Karmich Industries?” asked the accusing voice of Gina Cabna.

“Well, the fact that I’m the owner,” retorted Kalin smartly.

“What are you talking about? The company went public weeks ago.”

“And I bought most of the shares – through various charitable foundations, and trusts, and Balmorra Arms, and so forth. Look, it’s all a bit technical, but the important thing is that K’ntarr Enterprise’s future is secure. Right, Mister Sephi?” he asked slightly louder than the rest of his statement.

Byblos
“Right, Mister Sephi?”

“Right you are, Mister K’ntarr,” and with that the transmission was terminated. Ejo turns to look at Gina and relishly says, “Didn’t you get the memo?” Ejo then returned to task he had been working on before Gina interrupted. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, Gina slowly turning and walking out the room.

Before the doors fully sealed behind her she could hear Ejo say, “The Blasters are going to remain in the PLL, but we will be working exclusively under the guidance and in conjunction with the K’ntarr Sports Entertainment Group.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
To: Dennett Halverson
Rossum Bookmakers

Mr. Halverson,

I would like to transfer 500,000 credits to my secure personal account and place the following wagers:

Rydonni Prime Monarchs at Coruscant Senators: 125,000 credits on the Monarchs to win
Bakura Miners at Chandrila Patriots: 75,000 credits on the Miners to win
Nar Shaddaa Smugglers at Mando’ade Mercs: 75,000 credits on the Smugglers to win
Ylesia Lightning at Ralltiir Starkillers: 75,000 credits on the Starkillers to win
Onderon Crazy Dragons at Ryloth Rough Riders: 75,000 credits on the Dragons to win
Euceron Storm at Vandelhalm Jets: 75,000 credits on the Storm to win

Thank you and have a good day,

Client 24601

TAG: Trieste

 

IC: Meredith Chambers

Mesh'la Vhetin, Keldabe, Mandalore

Today was a day for a battle.

Today she was going up against the Nulls of Mandalore.

Today, as in so many days, there was a chance to emerge victorious from the largest stadium in the galaxy, the intimidating, the frightening, the outright enormous, field of Mesh’la Vhetin. Several hundred thousand bucket heads, all pouring their Limmie energy into their team, all hoping to see the great Meredith Chambers end her career with nothing but the bitter taste of defeat in her mouth.

Meredith had prepped the team. Prepared them for everything the Nulls could possibly through their direction. She’d poured over game film of the Mercs from the last five seasons, studying every shift in philosophy, every new angle they approached to attack the goal, every substitution, every new formation, and in all this study she had come away with one realization: The Nulls were a fast team and the Smugglers would have their hands full.

The 0-3 stretch against the Smugglers arch-rivals had essentially torpedoed the Smuggler’s season. They would have to win out and cross their fingers if they even hoped to sniff the post-season. So now, the team was playing for pride. Now the team was focusing on next year, a life without Meredith Chambers, and rumors had it, a life without their current coaching staff who had turned in three disappointing seasons following a Galactic Cup victory in 270 at home.

The entire organization was on the hot-seat. And some particularly nasty critics out there were wondering if the Smugglers, for the first time in their history, were going to be demoted to the Premiere League. Maybe that was where they belonged. They’d turned in three lousy seasons, maybe it would be humbling for the organization to have to work their way back into the ranks of the elite. But that was idle speculation, nobody knew anything, least of all the players who felt as if 273 was a whirlwind season of bi-polar proportions. Up, down, high, low, the Smugglers could not put anything consistent together. But the team did have one goal, to make sure that Meredith could finish the season upright and walk away from the game under her own power, not under that of a hoverchair or some other device for the disabled.

Meredith, too, had pulled back this week from her usual trash-talking, overconfident, exuberant self. She had been horribly humbled the past three weeks by Chandrila, Coruscant, and Bakura in turn. That stretch had really shaken her sense of accomplishment. Course, one good thing had emerged from that entire debacle, she’d had some fun with Polis Vayne and the two were hitting it off pretty well for being on opposite sides of a fierce rivalry. They’d joked, shared a few good laughs, and Chambers was cautiously optimistic that something good could develop there. Maybe that was enough for now. Maybe a friendship with an old rival was all that she could hope for. Fine, she could live with that. Right now, she wanted to come out of Mesh’la Vhetin alive.

Life, for Meredith Chambers, seemed to be going faster and faster every day. Before she knew it, she’d be out of a job, out of the very profession that had sustained her for over a decade. But she couldn’t think too far ahead now. Today was game day. Today was a chance to stick it to the Nulls.

Today was a day for nothing but Elite League Limmie.

Tag: Bardan_Jusik

 

GM Post

As we come into the home stretch, we have some critical games for the playoff hunt today. Bonus rolls to Bakura, Coruscant, Mando'ade, Nar Shaddaa, and Rydonni Prime. As usual, the Solo Conference plays it like Adele--they're rolling in the deep.

Week 6 Results

Onderon Crazy Dragons at Ryloth Rough Riders (31-17)
Euceron Storm at Vandelhelm Jets (6-24)
Ylesia Lightning at Ralltiir Starkillers (25-11)
Nar Shaddaa Smugglers at Mando’ade Mercs (15-12)
Bakura Miners at Chandrila Patriots (27-17)
Rydonni Prime Monarchs at Coruscant Senators (24-3)

By virtue of losses by Coruscant, Euceron, Mandoad'e, and Ryloth today, the Bakura Miners have won the 273 Commissioner's Trophy due the fact that Bakura's at-worst 4-1 conference record will be better than Coruscant or Rydonni Prime's at-best 3-2 conference record. Euceron, Ryloth, and Vandelhelm cannot match Bakura's overall record. The Miners will be presented with the Commissioner's Trophy at the Truce Day game against Mando'ade next week.

Tag: Bardan_Jusik CPL_Macja jcgoble3 Jedi Gunny JediMaster1511 JM_1977 Liam_Vehn Rebecca_Daniels Runjedirun Teegirloo

 

IC: Gark S’rily
Bursya Field at Andromeda Steel Corp. Field

This game had been a complete disaster. Despite this potentially being the Senator veterans’ last home game, and with the on-field recognition of the kids from the club in Gark’s former neighborhood, nothing had gone right. The Rydonni Prime Monarchs had come to play today, moving the ball with ease, making plays, and generally keeping the Senators off-balance all game long. In typical Senators Week 6 fashion, it was a blowout loss at home; at some point this curse had to lift, didn’t it? Apparently not today.

The Senators had come out in their all-black alternate kit, trying to shake things up a little bit in what looked to perhaps be their final home tilt. But, unlike the last time they had worn these, it didn’t work so well. Polis Vayne kept up his blistering season with a goal, his eleventh of the year, but that was it for scoring. The Monarchs made plays when they had to, and the Senators just spun their wheels the entire time. It hadn’t been pretty. The defense was out of whack; plays were not being made, defenders were falling short of their targets, and Jayla Leed wasn’t comfortable in goal. There were murmurings throughout the stadium regarding her poor play, the fans wondering if they last two weeks had just been a fluke and Leed was just that bad. Pam finally pulled her maligned goalie and put in Kapp Pyston to finish off the game, and he even got scored on more than the Senators had put up the entire game. The midfield was a mess as well, so no one would be spared the dreadful feeling in the locker room after the game.

The only bright spot were the kids. Gark had met them out at midfield during halftime, letting them (and the crowd) know that the Senators were planning on sponsoring similar programs around the city to fix up community centers and youth clubs in the poorer areas. The little Chiss girl he had met originally at the club was in complete shock when she put 2 and 2 together; that guy who had promised help at the club was in fact the GM of her favorite Limmie squad. When he had gone down the line of kids to her, she didn’t know what to say. But Gark had made it worth her while; all the kids got something, but she received a signed Alysha Romax jersey. Gark knew that would make her day, and the look on her face said it all.

“Where are you going?” Londy Whiste asked as Gark left the luxury box with a few minutes left in the game.

“Trophy,” Gark replied. “Gotta hand it off.”


It proved difficult to hand off the silver trophy to the Monarchs, but Gark was also a man of his word. It was the second time the Senators had to give away a new trophy at home like this, and the fans left before having to be subjected to the hideous sight of their team not taking the trophy home. But Gark knew deep down that these fans were worried more about the Senators’ playoff hopes than about a silver trophy they had never really heard of before. This loss, coupled with a Miners win, had cost the Senators any chance of getting the Commissioner’s Trophy for the first time in franchise history. So many times had they come close, only to fall just short in the end. Also, their playoff position was not locked up; a win next week against Chandrila, another team itching for a win against Coruscant, would push the Senators into the playoffs. A Mercs loss would also fit the bill, but Gark knew from past experience that those kinds of situations never materialized. 267 came to mind instantly, when the Senators, who had three chances to make the playoffs in the final week, lost all three in heartbreaking fashion to miss the playoff cut. Since Limmie was never predictable, the Senators needed a win to stay alive. A Monarchs loss in that instance would give Coruscant another home game against their new rivals . . . and when a team kicked the Senators down in the regular season, they were never shown mercy in the playoffs. Things were not over yet, but the chances of making the playoffs had just become a lot slimmer.

TAG: CPL_Macja, Trieste (for next week's game)

 

Sub-GM Post

Bonus rolls this week to (points in parentheses): Druckenwell (28), Concordia (28), Thyferra (28).

Limmie Futures League
Week 6
Druckenwell Marksmen at Commenor Gundarks (1–13)
Denon Demons at Kashyyyk Rangers (21–15)
Tatooine Sandskimmers at Kamino Waves (18–7)
Concordia Crusaders at Shili Suncrushers (23–12)
Thyferra Force at Kessel Runners (19–15)

TAG: JM_1977, Bardan_Jusik, Liam_Vehn, Rebecca_Daniels, Jedi Gunny, Teegirloo, Runjedirun, JediMaster1511

 

IC: Ayn Dormingale
Stoney End Park, Hanna City, Chandrila



"Mr. Speaker, I dare say you're in for a real treat today," the Chancellor said as she sat down with the Speaker to her right, "You're going to get the best color commentary in the galaxy today. A reigning College Galactic Champion to give her thoughts on today's game." Kerry Trieste had placed her daughter to her immediate left hand, bumping Declan from his usual position next to his mother. Instead he was sitting to his sister's left and Ayn had deftly maneuvered herself to his left.

"Mommmm," Falene said with some embarrassment.

"What? Can't I show you off a bit?" Kerry said, "It's not like you wouldn't have ample opportunity to point out the flaws in the Miner defense."

"Yes, Mr. Speaker," Regan said, leaning in from behind, "It appears that Valerii's strategy is daring the other team to stop Aron Rodders, because defense never plays a part in winning a championship."

"When one has Aron Rodders leading the offense, it's not a bad strategy," the Speaker said.

"Really, Falene, I think we'd all appreciate your viewpoint," Kerry pressed.

"Well, all right," she concdeded.

The Patriots put the ball into the Miners' end of the field and Ayn watched as the Miners recovered. T.K. went to play it up to Wizmark.

"No no no," Falene immediately said. This confused Ayn. Wizmark was the stronger player compared to the rookie Ruunron, who had not gotten much better as the season had progressed. "Not there," Falene continued.

"Why?" Ayn asked.

"Because--"

Patriots captain Avano Koobis neatly pickpocketed the ball from the Wiz and wasted no time punting the ball over the bar for the game's first score to the delight of the Patriot Nation.

"That's why. Play away from Koobis today. Matisse is a much weaker player. Even though Ruunron hasn't been the strongest half back for the Miners, he can handle Matisse. The Miners will find much greater success passing up the field if they stay on the left side. Besides, that has the added benefit of working to Morlan," Falene said.

"Alesh is the scorer of the two," the Speaker said, "Wouldn't you want to go to her?"

"No, it'll only draw the field into her. You pass to Morgan, pull in the Patriot defense, and then you go cross field to Alex who's going to be open."

"You don't work down low to Rodders?" Kerry inquired.

"Not to start. You establish Alesh as a threat, draw off Rodders' coverage and then you start passing to him to just bomb the Patriots up the middle," Falene said, pointing and laying out how she'd do things, "I mean, if I was defending the Miner offense, I'd have to play straight being-to-being to prevent that, but look at the Patriots, they're set up in zone. They're asking to get slaughtered."

The Miners defense, after getting bogged down by the aggressive Patriot offense, passed to Glencross, who worked it across the field to her midfield partner. North kicked it up to Morlan, who drew the attention of the Patriot defenders. She then hurled the ball all the way across the field to a waiting Alesh. Alesh burned the soft zone coverage to put the ball in the back of the net.

The Triestes cheered, Ayn included, and she saw Kerry toussle her daughter's hair. "That's what we're talking about, now isn't it?" the Chancellor said with a broad smile, "I tell you, Mr. Speaker, if I'd had my daughter's brain for the game I would have never gone into politics. I'd still be down there playing for the Miners."

"And then Cundertol would have never signed Morlan and Alesh out of A&M since you'd have the half forward line nailed down, they would have become Patriots, and we'd be winning this game," the Speaker said.

Kerry laughed. "Oh no, I would have moved to center half forward and put them to either side of me. We'd probably have about 300 points on the season between us all."

Ayn smiled. The Chancellor always did talk a good talk when it came to limmie--or anything else for that matter. She looked at Declan...and found him clapping politely, unusually subdued for the Miners taking an early lead in the game.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, leaning in.

"Nothing, nothing," Declan murmured.

---

Just as Falene predicted, after hitting several points from Alesh's side of the field, the middle opened up and that's when the Miners started putting the bolo-ball in Rodders' hands. As usual, the golden arm worked its magic and Keline Socken was smoked by the Miners' star full forward.

"Why do I even employ Valerii? I might as well put my girl in as coach," Kerry said, once again beaming at Falene.

"I couldn't coach the team," Falene said sheepishly, "I'd be too jealous of the players out there. I know I could kick their butts."

"Next season, I hope," Kerry replied.

Falene just smiled and stayed tight-lipped.

"Something to drink, Declan?" Ayn asked. She was headed to the bar already.

"No no," he murmured absentmindedly and remained in his seat.

Ayn got up and shimmied down the row until she got to the end. She cast an eye at the Chancellor's son. Something was very definitely off with him. She was going to find out what. First, she'd get a drink.

---

The Miners played one of their best defense games in weeks (though allowing 17 points would hardly be anywhere near good on another team--for the Miners this season it was fantastic). For their part, the Patriots were the first Solo Conference team to keep the Miners under 30 points, but not by much. It was still a solid 10 point margin of victory for Bakura and it meant that a playoff spot was surely locked up. The entire game had been given commentary by Falene. Ayn had to admit that the Ranger was a very intelligent player. She'd say something that wouldn't make sense and then something else would happen that would suddenly shed light on Falene's thinking. Ayn realized that Falene was thinking two or three steps ahead of the game. She didn't just know what she was going to do with the bolo-ball, she knew what would happen once she did that. If Falene was the real deal in terms of executing on the field, she was going to be something else in the Miners' back seven.

Ayn said her goodbyes to the Triestes before she headed for her hotel. She was flying out in the morning so she could steal just a little bit of time on Chandrila before returning to work. It would be a nice way to end her vacation. However, she wouldn't leave without saying farewell to Declan. Curiously, he was nowhere to be found. Ayn caught Regan's eye from across the room. She moved her eyebrows as if to say she didn't know and Ayn figured that he had to be outside the box.

With no small amount of urgency she walked the Stoney End concourse. From open doors to the other boxes she heard a faint refrain.

"Going down to Stoney End
We always wanted to go down to Stoney End"

It seemed that the Miner fans had decided to turn the tables on the Patriot Nation. It likely was not a pleasant feeling for the Chandrilans.

Ayn picked out Declan's form stepping on to one of the lifts. She ran as fast as she could in her modest heels to make it into the lift before the doors shut.

"Declan, you just disappeared in there," Ayn said as the lift started down.

"It didn't really matter today," Declan replied morosely.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No, we need--" Ayn realized that they were in a lift full of beings and she dropped her voice, "Declan, you've been weird all day. The Miners just locked up a playoff spot and you're acting like they got eliminated today. What the frak is going on with you?"

"Look, I told you I don't want to talk about it."

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Declan took the first opportunity to dart out and Ayn gave chase.

"Declan! Declan!" Ayn called after him. He didn't check his pace at all, but went through the open gates. "Oh for frak's sake," Ayn said. She hopped out of her shoes and ran across the pavement in bare feet to move faster, carrying her shoes in one hand. "Declan!" He was trying to hail an air taxi when Ayn caught up with him.

"Ayn, leave me alone," Declan said roughly.

"No!" Ayn shouted, "Declan, I'm not letting you just walk away from whatever this is!"

"That's not your call!" Declan shot back, "It's my life."

"Well this is what friends do Declan! They care about each other!" Ayn said.

"No, friends know when they don't want to talk."

"Friends know precisely when they need to talk, even when their friends don't want to!"

"She doesn't look at me the same anymore!" Declan shouted suddenly.

Ayn wasn't sure what that meant. "What?"

"She doesn't look at me the way she used to," Declan continued shouting angrily, "She looks at her that way! She used to look at me! But ever since last year it's been 'Falene's so great at limmie,' 'Here's Falene with the trophy,' 'Falene's the future of the Miners,' 'I'm so proud of Falene.' I'm sick of it! I'm sick of all of it! She used to be proud of me! And now she loves her more than she loves me! She loves her more!"

Ayn's heart seemed to fall to pieces inside of her. She had been an only child, but there was something in Declan's hurt anger that resonated inside of her.

"Oh Declan," Ayn said and she hugged him, her shoes knocking against his back. "Declan, Declan."

And then they were kissing each other. She didn't know how it started. She thought that he kissed her, but she wanted it so much that she didn't remember. All she remembered was fumbling into an air taxi that took them to her hotel, throwing clothes off in her room, slipping into the sheets powered by a deep fire that had been burning for so long and only suddenly given fuel. It was the realization of hopes and fears that Ayn had held in her heart for years now, a moment she had long dreamed of that had seemed distant, never to arrive, and now was here. Part of her wanted to cry from joy, but she never did. She was too swept up in finally reaching the mountaintop.

---

The next morning Ayn awoke with a pleasant sigh. It was early, the light filtering through the shade golden. Golden, like the accent color of the Miners' uniforms. How appropriate. She rolled over with a smile on her face.

And found a bed empty except for a folded flimsi.

Ayn sat up, the sheets falling from her body, still undressed from the night before. Her fingers didn't tremble as she gently picked up the flimsi, even if her spirit inside her quailed.

Ayn,

I have never written this kind of a note before, so I suppose this is as good a beginning as any other. Last night you showed me a great kindness in an hour of need. I cannot express my appreciation enough. I have, however, put you in an impossible situation as a friend. Things cannot be the same between us now, at least they can't for me. It was a stupid mistake, one that is my fault for having allowed your pity for me to do this to you. It would be best if we took some time apart from each other to allow us to forget what happened here so that one day things might return to normal. I should not have asked of you what you did last night and this is the only way to make it right. It would be awkward with my family if you were to miss the Truce Day game, though I would understand if you chose to do so.

Declan

Ayn had started crying before she finished reading. When she put the flimsi down she was shaking her from her tears. She was a mistake. He couldn't be associated with her anymore. She had gotten what she'd wanted at the cost of what she needed. Ayn fell back into the bed and sobbed into her pillow.

TAG: None, because there will be a separate Truce Day post for Bardan

 

IC: Dirxx Horstse
Stoney End Park, Hana City, Chandrila



There was a lot of nervous tension in the Coruscant Senators locker room. On the road, they were now ready to go head-to-head against the Chandrila Patriots. The green and white versus the black and orange, the old Galactic Empire capital versus the de-facto capital of the Rebel Alliance in the Revolutionary War, the meeting of two of the old guard in one of the most sacred venues in all of Limmie. It was here that the Senators found themselves ten minutes prior to running out of the field and starting their last regular season game.

Dirxx Horstse, the grizzled veteran captain, looked at his teammates. He scanned over the faces of the players, stopping to look at Demetra, Alysha, Reena, Pasla, Riff, Zadd . . . the list went on. They were the new guard . . . and, as with eight of his other teammates, he was going to eventually be put out to pasture from the team. It hadn’t seemed like that long ago since he had been their age, back when he felt like there was everything to accomplish. Back then, things had been a lot different. The Senators were terrible, their fans never sold out games, and no one thought Coruscant was worthy of a “Big Four” ballclub. If they could have been called that, it was in name only; the team was a joke, and no one took them seriously. However, looking back over the 13 seasons he had played professionally (including the short seasons in 265 and 270, when circumstances held out), he knew that he had accomplished a lot. When he had been made captain in 262, things weren’t so rosy. He was attacked in the media right away as not having the mental fortitude to withstand the pressure. Everyone expected him to roll over and die like the other Senator captains had.

But he hadn’t. He instead led that 262 team, one made up of players picked up off the scrap heap, college draftees such as himself who were trying to make it in the ELL, and old veterans trying to have one last chance at glory. He remembered those days just like they were yesterday; what a thrill ride that had been. He had held the Galactic Cup aloft after the end of the Final, when the Senators had come out of nowhere to vanquish the mighty Kashyyyk Rangers to win the title. The media thought it was a fluke, so the Senators proved them wrong. A decade later, despite so many shortcomings, the Senators had been a flagship franchise of the League. They had been consistent; not flashy, not splashy, but tough, gritty, willing to bash it out with the other team to take the victory home at the end of the day. That was how he had lived for so long now that it felt second-nature. But that time was coming to an end. For all nine of the Senator veterans who had made a pact to hang up their spikes at the end of the season and walk away from the game, this was it. This was their last chance to make an impression before the history books closed on them.

After Pamila Korthe had finished speaking about a strategy play, Dirxx moved forwards. All eyes in the room shifted to him. “Guys, it’s time. Follow me.” He had worked it out with the other veterans on the trip over here that he would ask them for a few minutes of their time before they hit the field. They had all agreed, and had been waiting for the cue. The seven other players left the huddle and walked out into the trainers’ room, far enough away from the locker room as not to be heard. Dirxx shut the door behind them as they finished filing in.

“I think you all want to know why I called you in here today,” the captain said to his fellow veterans. He looked them over. Shayt Contar, Shev Fil’yer, Lokesh Fil’ish, Syprul Raches, Moen Heatly, Laryssa Oneida, Polis Vayne; Limmie icons each one of them in their own right.

“We know well enough,” Polis commented.

“Where to begin . . . where to begin,” the Besalisk said.

“Just get it out,” Shayt finally said.

“It’s difficult to really put it into words,” Dirxx commented. “Do you all remember when we first joined this league? How new everything seemed? It was like we had the galaxy in our grasp; we could do whatever we wanted because we played Limmie well enough to make it this far. We felt invincible, like nothing could keep us down. I remember that so well, back when things were simple.

So here I stand before you, staring down the end of the season in the face. If we win today, we go into the playoffs for one final title push. If we lose, and our help never materializes . . . the dream is over. Everything we have been working hard all season for will fall apart in our hands. We will be looking up at three other teams and wonder what could have been. We will be left out of the spectacle that is the playoffs.”

There was just silence from the other players. They knew what was coming . . . or at least they thought they did.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . is . . . this may be our final game. In 60 minutes, we might be relics of the past, old names to be removed from the roster when our time has run its course. We have worked so hard to get here . . . think of the Cups we’ve won, those we almost won . . . the games we’ve achieved victory in, the ones we didn’t. Last week, we were swept clean; it never feels good to be pushed down like that and never get back up on your feet. We let the home crowd down . . . we let ourselves down. I don’t want the last thing we do as players to be to wonder why we couldn’t seal the deal when we had the chance.”

He then looked at each player individually. “Shayt, I know it’s been a long haul for you. You’ve always been there in the corner spot, covering my back when I fail. You may be stubborn sometimes and march to your own tune, but . . . you’ve been the greatest wing-woman a guy could ever ask for. You never shy away from a hit, and you play smart. It’s going to be tough to not have you to lean on when things get tough.”

“Shev,” he said, looking to the Noghri full back, “Even though I don’t always see you out on the pitch, I always know you’re there. It’s just one of those things I’ve come to appreciate over the years, having you back there to clean up the players who get past me. It’ll be tough to not have my back covered like that at all times.”

“Lokesh,” he said to the Bothan field general. “You’ve kept this offense running for years. Even when teams say that you can’t score, you still burn them up with your passing. I remember when you couldn’t even hit a target . . . but you kept at it, and worked your way up. That’s the kind of tenacity that we’ve had here over the years.”

“Syprul,” he said to the Shistavanen Full Forward, “you’ve got guts. I know it’s been a tough career for you with all the injuries and other stuff that’s happened, but you never gave up. You worked out to rehab from those injuries and came back better than ever. When we needed a bruiser to score, you stepped in. You are a walking screen . . . can’t get any better than that for the offense. Lokesh makes the offense go, these two,” he said, indicating the two scorers, “make the goals, but you . . . you make your presence felt. You do everything you need to, and that’s what makes our offense so good.”

“Laryssa, I admit that I don’t know you as well as the others here, but you’ve got a lot of talent going for you. I just want you to know that I appreciate what you’ve done for this club.”

“Moen, even though you were once a pain in the ass, and I mean it, you’ve changed a lot since you first signed here. It’s been great working with you, even though we’re on opposite ends of the field during games. You’ve got that scorer’s knack for finding the net, and that’s what has made you great. And,” he said, looking at how Moen put his shoulder around Laryssa, “you’ve got your girl. Don’t look on finally retiring as a loss; think about what you have ahead of you. Both of you.”

“How’d you know?” Laryssa asked.

“Trust me, the captain of the ship always knows,” Dirxx said, winking. He had noticed for the last month that those two had been going out on dates, so he had a feeling that there was a connection between the two.

“Finally, Polis . . . to my right-hand man, to the guy who is never lost for words. To the guy who got us through the rough times at the end of last season with his storybook speech . . . and to the best scorer in the galaxy. The media may think that others are better . . . but you’ve always been good. Real good. It’s scary to see how good you really are when you get going on offense. I wouldn’t want to play defense against you in a game, and I do it every day in practice. You’ve earned my respect many times over.”

He then looked back to all of the players in the room. “I guess what I’m finally getting to is . . . I love you guys. I really do. And not in a cheesy way, either. I’ve been out there with some of you for the last dozen or so years. We’ve done a lot together, won games, seen the galaxy, smelled the grass of the Limmie field beneath our feet, made our opponents eat dirt, win Galactic Cup titles and award hardware . . . we’ve been there. We know what it feels like to be at the pantheon of the sport. And now, at the end of our run . . . there’s a void there. We’ve all played Limmie for so long that it has become a part of who we are. In twenty, thirty, one hundred years, people will remember our names for what we did out on the pitch. It’s who we are . . . and what we will always be.

So I want you all to know that when we finally walk away from this sport, when our careers are finally over, that we don’t look back on what we have lost, but instead look forward to what is coming in the future. We have new prospects opening up for us beyond the horizon . . . things will be different, but maybe we won’t find it so bad to be retired. Let the young bucks take over for the future; we’ve done our part in building this franchise back up again, so we will leave it to them to keep up those successes. But, next season, even when we’ve left the game, our handprints will still be on the team. You don’t build something only to have it fall back on you when you leave it to its own devices. It will stay up, and then we will be able to say that we accomplished something in our careers.

But we did more than just play Limmie. We got the whole planet to believe in us once again. Remember when we couldn’t get fans out to the stadium on game day? Now we can’t sell enough tickets. We’re back in vogue . . . and a lot of that credit does go to us. But not all of it. We’ve provided a foundation, and the rest of the team picked it up. We’ve come a long way since those days, and now it’s time for us to step away and see what we’ve built. There will be growing pains when we are gone, but we had those when we were young as well.

Now, when we take this field in a minute, it may be our last time. I don’t intend to go down without a fight. Chandrila doesn’t frighten me. Their fans, stadium, and players may be against us . . . but since when have we ever listened to the odds? Everyone told us back in the day that we don’t quite fit the bill of a solid team. But we fight onwards because we can . . . and we have. So let’s go out there and play all 60 minutes. If we win, we get to prolong our careers one week at a time. If we lose . . . at least we go out on top. Maybe not as champions, maybe we don’t have any hardware to show for it, but in our minds we will have accomplished great things.

We may have come from different backgrounds, different ways of life, different in every way imaginable . . . but out on that field, we are a family. A whacked-out one to be sure, but we’ve got that mojo out there. It’s going to be rough to not have you all out there when I move on from Limmie. But it’s not necessarily a bad thing; we can remember what we fought for, what we suffered for, what we risked injury for . . . we fought for each other, for our teammates, the coaches, the fans . . . and ourselves. We may move on from Limmie, but we will never forget. Now, let’s go out there and face our destiny as a unit . . . I don’t want this to end just yet. Let’s push it out three more weeks and lift that trophy, shall we?”

When the veterans returned to the locker room, there was complete silence. The younger players wanted to know what had been said behind closed doors, but none of the veterans would budge. They wouldn’t tell, because it had been a private meeting, one just for them.

Dirxx stood at the head of the line when the team stood in the tunnel to hit the field.

“You all right?” Pam asked.

“Fine,” Dirxx replied. “I just don’t want this to end just yet.”

“Then go out there and win this game for us,” the Zeltron said, putting her hand on Dirxx’s shoulder. “I’m sure you won’t mind bashing the Patriots up one more time?”

When the team hit the field, it was to the steady chorus of boos that accompanied any road team’s entrance. Dirxx just stared at the field, not even flinching when the Patriots came on to a chorus of cheers and singing from the Patriot Nation. The fans wouldn’t decide this one . . . the players would. And this was their chance to shine. It might be their last game, but the Senator veterans all knew that they weren’t going down without a fight. This was for all the marbles, and they weren’t going to hold anything back. It was game time.

TAG: No One, or unless Trieste wants to comment on the game

 

GM Post
Rhemes residence tower, Rydonni Prime



The human female was humming in the lift as she ascended towards the penthouse suite. She was pretty sure that the doordroid had probably announced to its occupant that a visitor was coming. In her right hand was a metal case, held by the handle. It was starting to get rather heavy, but it wouldn't do any good to shift arms. Her left one was quite out of commission, as evidenced by the fact that it was pinned to her body by way of a sling. No, that wasn't doing much for her. She didn't think about it. She was just watching the numbers go up as she hummed.

Rydonni Prime seemed like a rather nice place. After all, it was a Core world so it was decently civilized. Unlike Rodia. She shuddered. She didn't really want to go back there again. Unfortunately, sometimes deliveries had to be made to places she didn't like. It was part of her job.

The lift stopped, but the doors did not open. She suspected that they likely opened right onto the penthouse's living space and therefore needed to be opened by code or biometrics, or from the inside. She looked at where she was reasonably sure the holocamera was in the hoverlift.

"Hello Mr. Rhemes," she called sweetly, "I have a delivery for you." She held up the case to show what she thought was the hidden camera. "The droid sent me up."

TAG: CPL_Macja

 

IC: Setarcos Rhemes
General Managers Office, The Grande Villa



Slowly, almost reverently, Setarcos set the newly won prize upon a wooden pedestal that bore small placards which were engraved with the year, score, and venue of all the match-ups in the Core War. The General Manager had commissioned the creation of the pedestal before he departed from Coruscant in his private shuttle. He ordered the rest of the team on to Nar Shaddaa to prepare for their final regular season match. In 270, when the Monarchs won the Commissioner’s Trophy, the Smugglers spoiled their season by not only beating them in the final week, but also in the first round of the playoffs, so he wanted his players ready.

Once the Sector Cup was in its new home, Setarcos made his way to his home. As he moved to his private lift that took him to the executive hanger bay, he sent first a private message to Variise, letting her know that he was going to be on planet for the next two nights, then he sent a message to his private banker to initiate a transfer of one million credits to an account designated by Loruna K’ntarr for the special project that he was helping her with. It did not take Variise long to respond with a racy reply and an equally racy holo attachment.

As the lift doors opened his private pilot waited for Setarcos to settle into his seat before closing the vehicle’s hatch. Resting on the seat beside him was the daily report for the K’ntarr Sports Entertain Group. It appeared that not only had Kalin been successful in his take-over of Karmich Industries, once again returning the Blasters to the family, along with renewing corporate relations with Balmorra Arms through K’ntarr Enterpise. Meanwhile Ardan was able to parlay enough credits to retake control of the Dathomir Rancor Riders and planned to move them to Loronar in the Colonies. He had taken over the Loronar Corporation in conjunction with Loruna’s merger of Rythani Labs with Byblos RepulsorDrive and Kalin’s hostile take-over. Like Kalin he was renaming Loronar Corporation to K’ntarr Corporation and the limmie squad to the Loronar Colonials.

He closed his eyes and imagined the looks on people’s faces after he made his announcement tomorrow. It was all starting to come together, and he got to be a part of it, a big part of it. When he opened his eyes he found that they had landed in his private hanger in K’ntarr Towers that attached to his penthouse suite. He gave his pilot his customary tip and requested that he returned in the morning to take him to the press conference. The door to the hanger closed behind Setarcos and he made a direct line to his sleeping quarters to change out his travel bag. When he rounded the corner he was greeted by two things: the sweet-tones of what he presumed a young female calling from the front entrance and a naked Variise in his bed.

“Hello Mr. Rhemes. I have a delivery for you. The droid sent me up.” Variise slinked over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and started nibbling on his ear “Oh for the sake of the gods. Why did the doordroid let someone up?”

Variise stopped her nibbling for a moment, “Because I told him too,” she said with a sly grin on her face. “Go ahead big boy, get rid of the delivery girl.” The owner of the Monarchs let go of him, and he started to walk towards the front door when she added, “Or invite her in for a quickie, your choice.”

Setarcos just shook his head as he went to the door. He quickly checked the monitor to see the young lass standing with a metal case in her unslung hand. He reached over and keyed the intercom so she could answer a question or two. “And who might this delivery be from exactly?”

TAG: Trieste

 

GM Post
Hoverlift outside the Rhemes penthouse, Rydonni Prime

She had to be careful. Not for her sake, but for his. Hoverlifts in nice residences often recorded footage and an information trail wouldn't serve him well. However, if Rhemes was as clever as she thought, there was another way.

"Exactly?" the young woman said, allowing her arm with the case to relax, "For me to tell you that I'd have to look for the manifest. Six of one, half dozen of another, you know? Oh wait! It's one of your friends."

She waited, hoping that he'd figure it out.

TAG: CPL_Macja

 

IC: Setarcos Rhemes
K’ntarr Tower Penthouse, Rydonni Prime

Six of one, half dozen of another? One of my friends? Halverson? What the frak is he sending a courier for? “Oh, I remember now. I sent away for some documents from my attorney. Come on in.”

Setarcos hit the control panel to allow the young woman to enter his home. He waited for the girl to enter and the lift doors to close before he resumed his inquiry, “I know you work for Dennett, what can I do you for?” He gave her a playful smirk, fully intending the double-entendre.

TAG: Trieste

 

GM Post
K'ntarr Tower Penthouse, Rydonni Prime

The woman stepped inside when the lift doors opened. It seemed he'd gotten the hint. "For me to tell you that I'd have to look for the manifest. Six of one, half dozen of another, you know? Oh wait! It's one of your friends." 2-4-6-0-1, his number with Rossum Bookmakers. Okay, so there had been some other numbers thrown in there too, but a little static never hurt anyone.

She twitched a little bit when Rhemes spoke. It was one thing to see it written. It was another thing to hear him say it. She bent her knees to set the case on the floor to extend her good hand for a handshake. "Bennett Halverson, at your service," she said, adding, "With a B."

TAG: CPL_Macja

 

IC: Jed Ortmeyer
Kessel

Jed didn’t like Kessel. It was a mining planet first and foremost, and he couldn’t imagine having to live here for more than one day. Bakura had a long tradition of mining as well, but at least it wasn’t just a piece of glorified space rock. But Kessel . . . he hated it with a passion. Thus, walking away with a 19-15 victory over the Runners felt like justification for having to come out here to play a Limmie game.

It had not been an easy victory. Maff Biskis had gone down with an ankle sprain, which would keep him out of the regular season finale the next week against Kamino. This put a serious dent in Jed’s offense, now helmed by former Senator Cameron Veryist. Biskis was the sparkplug that drove the team forwards, so not having him next week was going to put more pressure on the other starters, namely Mychele Lysar and Paz. Lysar, the team captain, now had her chance to shine and try to show the big club why she deserved a promotion for the 274 season, and Paz, who never really had much prospect of being called up anyways, could prove herself in case another team wanted to take a flier on her. Somehow, those two had been effective in this game sans Biskis, with the usual help from Dauza Chary and her passing skills.

The middle of the field had been hotly-contested all game long. Lai Blutas and Sarya Dilvam had stuck home in the trenches, fighting tooth and nail with the Runner midfielders for position. Zak Pers had been clocked in the head by an elbow, which had busted his nose and forced the Helmsman finalist to need to be benched to make sure there wasn’t more damage done to his face. Tonga Rute, the other midfielder on the roster, had played quite a few minutes in this game, although his line hadn’t been spectacular in the least.

On defense, it hadn’t been a terrible game. Reid Livingstone was showing why he deserved a chance to crack the Senator lineup for 274. The third-round pick from 272 had manned his position well, and with the upcoming retirements of Senator corner backs Shayt Contar and Sheila Nightshade, his chance was now. There was even some speculation that he might start the next season across from Jerek Deter, but former teammate Pasla Tesh stood in the way for that on Coruscant. There was little doubt Reid would make it; whether he would start was still up in the air.


Jed knew that this next game against Kamino likely wouldn’t mean much for the standings. However, the Force still needed to win that game in order to guarantee themselves a playoff spot. In the new league, the top three teams made their conference playoffs, while the other two would go into the consolation bracket. It was an interesting way to make sure that the players would get playing time . . . but Jed wanted to win. He had won the Galactic Cup twice as a player, and he wanted to make sure that he qualified for the playoffs in his first season as a Head Coach. Perhaps a successful stint here would open up opportunities elsewhere.

TAG: No One

 

IC: Beskaryc Taab
MandalMotors Hall, manda'yaim

Once again the black smoke rose up from the fire pit. In a sense things were progressing faster this week. With the elimination of all the other candidates it was down to just Ordo and Taab. Sadly every vote since then had come out as a tie. The assembled clan leaders had taken to voting once per day with no change. Oh some voters had changed their minds in an attempt to break the deadlock, but where Taab would manage to convince three or four here, Ordo and his supporters would peal off the same number of Taab voters on the other end. It was maddening, and now they were considering going to two votes a day in an attempt to break the stalemate.

Taab shook his head at the proceedings. This was getting them no where. Already this conclave had gone on too long. Mandalorians were supposed to be a decisive people, but now they were the laughing stock of the aruetiise, unable to even select the next mand'alor. Taab wondered if the last one was no regretting his retirement. Arguements were still proceeding on whether or not to amend the voting procedure when Taab moved up to take the floor. Something drastic would have to be done, and he knew that he would have to be the Mandalorian, the candidate to do it. Taking center stage, his voice echoed out through the hall, amplified by his buy'ce. "Mando'ade, vode. I have an announcement..."

---

IC: Jaya "barefoot" Tam
Mercs sideline, Meshla Vhetin, manda'yaim. Just after halftime. Mercs: 2, Smugglers 9

Jaya was once again being kept from the action as the Mercs season was slipping away from them. They needed to win this match to keep their destiny in their own hands, yet they were being crushed by a team that had but one win. Jaya scowled as another point was scored against the Mercs, it was 10-2 now. To anyone who hadn't been watching the game thus far it might seem that the Mercs had been caught in a trap game, looking past the struggling Smugglers towards the showdown on Bakura next week. But Jaya knew those people would be wrong.

The Mercs offense was flowing perfectly, passes up and down the field, getting off good shots on goal. Likewise the defense was playing well enough to win, certainly on any normal day. The difference was Chambers. She was playing like a woman possessed and demonstrating why she had dominated the league at her position for so many years. The Mercs offense couldn't seem to get much past the woman. It was an amazing sight to behold.

Jaya kicked at the ground with her bare feet, deep in thought as the Mercs took the bolo-ball out of their zone again, slashing through the Smugglers defense. It wasn't like any of this mattered anymore anyway, she knew she wasn't going to play. After her letter to the league the team and taken her off of the inactive list, which at least allowed for the possibility that she would play. But Coach Vizsla had made it very clear that unless she agreed to wear the spikes provided for her, she would continue her time on the bench.

The whole of the stadium groaned as Chambers made yet another miraculous save. It just wasn't fair. Jaya could tell the Mercs offensive unit was getting tired and frustrated out there. They needed a boost. Maybe she should compromise her principles, maybe she should just give in and wear the cleats. She was afraid that if she didn't now her career in the ELL would be over. The Smugglers put a ball in the back of the net, pushing their lead to 13-2. It was now or never. Jaya sighed to herself. This went against everything she believed in, and she could not believe that she was about to do this. She hoped her parents would understand. Approaching Coach Vizsla she steeled her self to say the words, "Put me in Coach, I give in," but she never had the chance.

The Mercs offense was again on the move and Jeem Daryc caught a ball deep within the Smugglers defensive zone. He was alone, and had only Chambers to beat. Now the stadium roared and cheered,
though everyone knew that beating Chambers on this day was no small task. Daryc sprinted full speed at the goal, watching Chambers to see how far out she would come to challenge him and his inevitable shot.

But he surprised her, and everyone else in the stadium when he suddenly pulled up, digging his feet hard into the turf and throwing the ball with all his might, and the pent up momentum of his sprint towards the goal. The ball ripped through the air, brushing past the outstretched fingers of Chambers and into the back of the net. The stadium and sidelines erupted into cheers. Mercs 5, Smugglers 13. It would be an uphill battle, but if Daryc could pull off a few mores moves like that then nothing was impossible.

Unfortunately for the Mercs, and especially for Daryc, he wouldn't be pulling off that move again anytime soon. No one had noticed it yet, they had been too focused on the path of the ball and the celebration following the score, but Daryc though had gone down hard, clutching at his knee. Play stopped as the team medics raced onto the field to care for their player. Replay on the stadium's massive holo-scoreboard showed what had happened. The spikes on Daryc's left foot had caught in the turf when he had stopped and threw, bending his knee at an awkward angle. Those who had followed meshgeroya for years knew it was an ACL injury before the medics could even give their own diagnosis. He was lucky it wasn't broken.

The wind was taken out of the crowds sails as Daryc was helped off the field, supported by his team mates and not putting any weight on his damaged knee. Jaya swallowed hard. She knew she was supposed to be Daryc's backup, but she doubted that Coach would put her in the game. He would go with one of the backup full forwards and leave her to ride the bench. But in his desperation he
surprised her, "Jaya, you're in for Daryc..." Without question Jaya sprinted out onto the field, her own cleats left behind. She dared not glance back at the sidelines to see what the Coach Vizsla'a reaction would be to that, but at least he didn't pull her from the game.

Looking skyward she dug her toes into the earth of the Meshla Vhetin now before closing her eyes. It was warm, and the sun shined down upon her. This was her moment. this was the day where she would show Vizsla, the Mercs, and the League what she could do. And she didn't disappoint.

The game spoke to her as she played, flowed around her and wrapped her up like a blanket. It was comforting and she felt not a moment of nervousness as she managed to score three points on her first touch of the ball. The crowd cheered, they were her first ever points at the professional level, and they were not to be her last. The Mercs slowly clawed their way back into the game, another three points by Jaya made the score 13-11, and she could feel that this was her moment, this was the chance she had to prove to everyone that she not only belonger here, but would be a star.

Her dreams was put on hold momentarily as the game slowed down. The teams managed to trade points as the game wound down. It was 14-12 now, with just a minute to go. The Smugglers were playing keep away now, trying to just run down the clock, but a defensive breakdown allowed them one last point scored. Mor'kesh brought the ball out past midfield, passing the ball forward to the offense.
But the Smuggler's D had clamped down now, not allowing anyone an open shot. Jaya called for the ball, and her call was answered. Spinning through the defense she looked up towards where Chamber's was getting ready, the clock continued to wind down. This was it, this was the moment that Jaya had been born for. The game spoke to her through her bare feet and she knew when the exact moment would come, the perfect moment for her to launch the game tying score and send the game to overtime. An overtime that would save the Mercs season and help them in their playoff hunt.

She feinted to her left now, faking a shot. Chambers bit hard and dodging one last defender, Jaya changed direction and launched the ball towards the back of the net. Jaya expected nothing but for the ball to hit the back of the net, but Chambers had somehow recovered. She threw herself towards the ball and managed to deflect it back out onto the field. Straight into the hands of the defender that jaya had just beat. The final horn sounded, the crowd silent in their disbelief. Jaya herself slumped to the ground. This was her day, her moment. She knew she was to have been the difference in this game, and now...now it was gone.

Slowly she got up off the ground, following her team mates from the field. She shook her head slowly, she had lost games before in college of course, but none of those losses had elicited this kind of emotion from her. Coach Vizsla approached her, slapping her on the shoulder. "You did good rook. Now hit the showers. We may need you next week at Bakura."

---

IC: Aay'han Vhett
Mercs team shuttle, enroute to Bakura

It had come down to this. Again. One last game to try to save the season, and against the Mercs most hated rivals. Naturally it was an away game, and no away team had ever won the newly coined Cross-Galaxy Clash. Even worse the Miners had already clinched a Commissioners Cup this season and it would be presented to them at this game. Vhett scowled, it was sure to get their fans even more fired up for the match then they already would be. Combine that with the fact that the game was also a part of their annual "drop your weapons and give up day" celebration and she was sure this would be one of the Mercs more harrowing road trips.

But she still held out hope. Yes, she was sure the Miners would like nothing better then to stick it to their hated rivals and keep them from a playoff berth, but they weren't in desperation mode. The Mercs were. They would need a win here first, and then a little help from the Smugglers or Patriots to help them get into the postseason. She couldn't worry about what the other teams would do though. All she could do was help the Mercs do their part, and she knew it would be a difficult road. Especially given the injury to their young Center half back. He wouldn't be ready for this game, though with the miracles of modern medicine he might, might, be ready for the playoffs if they made it.

Vhett looked out of the shuttles small window, noting the escorting Mandalorian fighters. She hoped that young Tam would be ready for this.

---

IC: Beskaryc Taab
MandalMotors Hall, manda'yaim

"Mando'ade, vode. I have an announcement..."

The hall quieted down. Normally it wasn't so easy to get a crowd of leading Mandalorians to quiet themselves. But when one of the last two men standing in the quest to become mand'alor spoke, the other's listened. Taab continued on. "It is clear to me that we have reached an impasse. Dral Ordo is a strong leader, and would make an excellent Mand'alor to lead us into the future." Murmurs arose in the crowded Hall. Was Taab giving up?

"And as the recent votes have demonstrated, many of you also know that my own credentials are just as strong." Taab could see several buy'ce covered heads nodding in agreement. "The time has come for us to act as mandalorians, if we are both worthy of the prize, we must be willing to fight for it." The nods became short cheers, cries of "yes" rang out through the hall. "So it is that I challenge Dral Ordo to meet me in a Battle Circle, the winner of which will become our new leader!"

The Hall erupted in chants now, "oya, oya, oya." Taab looked out among the crowed building, looking for Ordo now. Finding him, their eyes met. Ordo called out. "Well played. I accept your challenge. We will meet here, an hour before the meshgeroya match on Bakura. Their day of celebrating cowardice will be our day of honor." Taab nodded in agreement. "Until then."

The crowd parted and the two of them left, headed back to their own homesteads, to prepare for the battle of their lives.

TAG: No one really.