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  1. In Memory of LAJ_FETT: Please share your remembrances and condolences HERE

Star Wars Star Wars: After the Awakening

Discussion in 'Role Playing Forum' started by Sinrebirth , Jan 9, 2016.

  1. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Belila Gambros (Bre)
    Shadow Moon - Corellia

    Well, Fox was down for the count for now. Or at least, not dangerous. But now noise and movement made Bre turned her head. Uniforms. White, noisy, shiny uniforms. Not good. Not good at all. She pushed away thoughts from long ago. A quick scan showed that Big Blue was busy speaking with someone...or maybe two folks. She couldnt tell. But he was no longer fighting. Which was good, because he had used far too much fancy movements that left no room for imagination. And she was pretty sure someone would be pointing him out now.

    Fred gave a nervous warning whistle. With a nod, Bre jumped on her speeder, gunning the engines, until she came close to Big Blue, and the guy he was talking with. She gunned it, weaving her way to the pair. She stopped, making sure to stay just out of Big Blue's reach. She knew who he was now, but he would not recognize her. And she was not about to break her cover... not yet. So she called out to him.

    "Hey, Big Blue, dont know about you, but I see trouble moving fast this way. And I know those guys aint friends of yours, and if your about to pull a dust off, take me with you. I'm quite sure I can be useful, and with all the 'aerobics' you just pulled, your going to want to clear outta here. Something didnt FEEL right about this thing, and I smell a set-up."

    Fred whistled in agreement.


    TAG: HanSolo29, Sinrebirth, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  2. Mitth_Fisto

    Mitth_Fisto Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 29, 2005
    Susulur Dha'tra
    Yaga Minor, First Stormtrooper Ball

    No reach for meds. What a pity. Still as he held up the now limp body of the medic and pocketed the medical scanner he took stock of the situation. Coughing was still a problem but not as bad now that he had control of the pain, the stormtroopers were moving in to fight the obvious Mando's, but being careful with their shots. And as the Mando had incapacitated the good tech and he the medic he had likely just shabla karfed his own exit to save his hide from the medic's scanner. Of all the little things that could blow his mission, even cross purposes, he had not expected to breath twice in shock of instead of the planned once to be his plans undoing quality. Still the new friend had a good question, although he suspected he knew the answer to his own question. Dikut scarred it off. None of this was to plan and he doubted his hired local help would not step into this kind of fray.

    So the truth now was. . . "Ni hukaatii'ni shebs ti kama!"

    Still his eye had been able to localize which pouch held the likely meds he needed, which was an upside, and so he danced with the medics body keeping it between him and the stormtroopers with his back to the Mando. Thank goodness the medic was skinny was all he could say as he shifted his grip. Rumaging in the pocket he lifted injector after injector, throwing the ones he didn't want at the stormtroopers, until he found the right one. Meanwhile he talked. "Your four, coming up on two, pace eight chrono." It was simple talk as they turned and he let the one in true beskar handle the melee stormtroopers as he prepped the proper syringe and sticking out his tongue, using the edge of his artificial optic wide spectrum lens to see where he needed to go, he injected into a vein in his tongue.

    Stilling his coughing for the moment had left him heaving his chest after, but as he dropped the medic, who had been used as a shield to block a couple stun sticks to either himself or his Mando friend he felt a twinge of regret. Medics and non-com's were not the kind of beings he liked to have to break down to survive, but then he had to stop and cupped his mouth as he felt a tingling in his lungs some of the pressure and pain lessening. Bending over he dipped into his satchel and grabbed two non-conductive coated pipes out, which he promptly used to intercept a stun stick, "Ready Di'kut!" he simply signaled as his pipe shattered partly under the assault along pre-scored micro-fractures. This guy had a lot of unresolved anger. Blocking with his non-damaged pipe he caught the follow-up swing and stepping into the stormtrooper's space, so his gut was against the cool armor, he thrust up with the broken pipe that was now an improvised shiv under the mans jaw. Well he was pretty sure it was man with a swing that hard, but really who could tell these days?

    With that done and dropping he tried to keep the other Stormtooper occupied so the Mando could finish his one as they now were making better progress to the second, "Any chance you fight on over a dropped blaster ner vod. I don't want to be exposed by your snipers incompetence much longer." As soon as feasible he would drop down, scoot and grab a free stormtrooper blaster and proceeded to lend his help to his new friend as they made their way toward last Mando. Making sure to target far enemies before near, but for the immediate moment he needed to dance with this trooper to prevent the others from just mowing him and his new friend down.

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
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  3. Tim Battershell

    Tim Battershell Jedi Master star 5

    Registered:
    Sep 3, 2012
    IC: Atropos
    Imperial Shipyards, Yaga Minor

    The sounds of booted feet were getting nearer! Ignoring the Mando's weapon, the dead man moved to the sealed corridor and touched the butt-end of - what looked like a hydrospanner - to the control panel, causing the portal to unseal itself. Not that big a risk to take, a shot would merely cause the booted feet to speed up and give them an indication of direction.

    "Come with me if you want to remain free and alive!"; he snapped, stepping through into another corridor - one with daylight at the end of it. "Weld that shut and blow the control box, please" the dead man requested of the Mando after he'd swung the door closed again. Then, not even bothering to listen for the Mando's compliant Blaster Shots, he took a couple of paces to a wall-mounted disposal slot and slid the noisome bag into it with the thought of 'Bon Appetite, Dianoga!'. The workgloves and hydrospanner followed the bag in turn.

    Next, he gripped the begrimed Civilian costume and heaved, splitting it along pre-weakened seams and revealing - looks to the contrary - that it was a one-piece coverall. Another item for the disposal!

    Turning to face the Mando again, the dead man revealed himself now to be clad in a Naval Commander's Uniform, or a very close approximation of one, complete with rank-appropriate Code Cylinder; an effect enhanced by him producing a folded Officer's Cap from an inside pocket, opening it and donning it. Extracting a small spray-can from a pocket, he carefully sprayed the Uniform and boots, casually remarking; "Wonderful stuff this 'Nif-Gon'.... You've probably heard the slogan 'Stinking clothing? Wash it with Nif-gon!', does exactly what it says on the tin, too! Meet Commander Goauld"; the dead man pronounced the name as 'Gold'; "of the Imperial Navy! You'll be my assigned black-ops Services bodyguard for a classified mission - which will explain your weapon, lots of those Sections go in for non-standard gear - any talking that needs to be done, leave it to me. If you do have to speak, call me Commander or Sir. Understood? Right; now follow me!"

    Pausing only to send the empty 'Nif-Gon' container after everything else, the dead man walked in the direction of the daylight; and the waiting small, open-topped groundcar - ubiquitous ground-level transport in the Yards - that he'd left parked there.


    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
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  4. HanSolo29

    HanSolo29 RPF/SWC/Fan Art Manager & Bill Pullman Connoisseur star 7 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Apr 13, 2001
    Duke Praxon
    Shadow, Corellian moon

    The Resistance?!

    The words cut through him like a knife, and yet, despite the repercussions that were sure to come for assaulting a member of such an illustrious group, he remained firm and simply sneered at the man. He wanted to believe him more than anything, if only to give himself some peace of mind and to prove that he was not a violent man, but something kept nagging at the back of his mind. It was almost as if this man was mocking him with those words and simply using them to secure his own escape. After all, he was just an actor - what did he know? He was gullible, right?

    “You shot Wyn,” he spat accusingly, applying pressure to the man’s shoulders and forcing him further into the bulkhead. Even if the man was telling the truth and it did turn out that he was with the Resistance, Praxon doubted he could find it in himself to forgive him for that single act. Stun blast or not, they had still targeted her - both of them - and that just didn’t sit right with him. What kind of operation were they running here? Weren’t they supposed to be helping the innocent? It certainly gave him pause as to whether or not he should continue to endorse this kind of behavior by continuing his mercy missions.

    “We were here to help,” he revealed with a hint of regret, knowing he was probably exposing a weakness by doing so. “If you are who you say you are, you better start telling me what the hell is going on.”

    TAG: Sinrebirth, Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  5. BobaMatt

    BobaMatt TFN EU Staff star 7 VIP

    Registered:
    Aug 19, 2002
    K'Kruhk

    The old Whipid had become less and less fond of space travel since being pitched from a hole in the side of a ship, but it was a necessary darkness in his life, now, for he would always be on the move.

    All the same. All the same.

    Lothal had remained mostly untouched by the Yuuzhan Vong and, luckily for K'Kruhk, its Jedi temple had mostly been ignored by the Empire. He was here, secretly, because he needed supplies. It felt like time to find the Son of Skywalker, time to truly call himself a Jedi once more. That life came with difficulties, of course, and that meant building a new lightsaber. He hadn't trusted the lambents on Yavin 4, though he'd heard rumors they could be used to create superior bladed. He just couldn't feel the Force in them, not like the crystals on Adega or Ilum. Adega had been strip-mined, and, well, the Resistance had seen to Ilum a year ago.

    He felt Tholme searching for him like a thumb behind his eyeball, probing. Here goes nothing.

    K'Kruhk reached out with the Force to lift the temple from the ground, and his exertion served as a beacon. He felt Tholme's searching eye focus. The Whipid shrugged to himself - it'll take the old man long enough to get here, if he decides to come. If he decides to stay so much the better.


    K'Kruhk stepped into the Temple.

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  6. NickLitYouAFlame

    NickLitYouAFlame Jedi Master star 5

    Registered:
    Feb 27, 2007
    Elias Noble
    Shadow, Corellian moon

    The soldier turned defensively when the girl drove up on a speeder. He looked about as surprised as Elias when she addressed them. "Hey, Big Blue, don’t know about you, but I see trouble moving fast this way. And I know those guys ain’t friends of yours, and if you’re about to pull a dust off, take me with you. I'm quite sure I can be useful, and with all the 'aerobics' you just pulled, your going to want to clear outta here. Something didn’t feel right about this thing, and I smell a set-up."

    Elias looked at the girl with a sideways glance. His head was still throbbing some and now his shoulder burned like it had been bathed with molten lead. He didn’t know if he could trust her, but they was running out of time, with the First Order now converging quickly. The soldier interjected, “I need to get to Praxon’s ship and meet up with my teammate”

    Elias waved his hand and exclaimed, “There’s no time, we’ll have to contact them on the way off planet!” The man looked like he was about to argue, but then remembered how Elias had taken down half their squad and closed his mouth. Elias turned back to the girl and said, “Grab the guy you knocked out onto your speeder and get him to my ship.” Elias then hoisted the unconscious man and threw him over his shoulder and ran over to the man he had shot. With a little bit of difficulty, he grabbed him by the front of his armor and dragged him to the still open boarding ramp of the Noble One.

    Elias stopped for a second and remembered that the man who apparently was Duke Praxon was already on his ship. He wouldn’t know about the incoming danger. Elias inhaled for a moment and yelled, much louder than any normal human could muster, “FIRST ORDER INCOMING!” Then he turned and continued up the ramp.

    Tag: Ktala, HanSolo29, Sinrebirth
     
  7. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Belila Gambros (Bre)
    Shadow Moon - Corellia

    Bre couldnt help but give just the slightest of grins as she sat on her bike. She could see the looks both the new guy, and Big Blue were giving her, but that was fine. As far as he knew, she was just some kid on a bike, trying to grab a way outta a bad situation. But she had helped out. The other guy said something about needing to get to Praxton's ship, but Big Blue had other ideas. “There’s no time, we’ll have to contact them on the way off planet!” The man didnt look happy about it, but kept his mouth shut. Elias turned back to Bre and said, “Grab the guy you knocked out onto your speeder and get him to my ship.”

    "Gre smiled wickedly then. "You got it, Blue!", and with a wild kickoff that sent sand swiftly scattering about, she gunned her bike, spinning herself around quickly. She heard Fred whistle excitedly, as she leaned her bike, reaching the area she had left Fox. Ohh, she didnt envy the man, when he woke up. He was going to have a massive headache, and perhaps a broken rib or two. But right now, she needed to get him on the ship quickly. Using a bit of 'help', and the momentum of the bike, she managed to sling the unconscious body on the back of her bike. Luckily, it was just a short distance to reach Blue's ship, and hitting the throttle once more, she gunned it for the ship. Fred helped as well, offering a claw or two, to hold the man onto the bike as she zipped thru the spaceport, taking the most direct route available. She saw that Big Blue had grabbed one man, and was draggin him along by his armor, another over his shoulder. She already knew what had happened to the other.

    As she reached the ramp, she gunned her bike up the ramp, stopping at the top. She then pushed her bike, as she moved further in, looking for a spot she could place the unconscious Fox down, safetly. Big Blue reached the ship, when he suddenly turned about. He paused a moment, and then, Bre nearly jumped when he yelled out -

    “FIRST ORDER INCOMING!”

    Bre winced from the assault on her ears.They would have to be DEAD, not to hear that shout! Unfortunately, she was pretty sure that the troopers heard it too, though they might be not sure where it came from. Then Big Blue turned and continued up the ramp. Bre waited to see how she could help, either with the unconscious people, or the guy BB had been talking with.

    Bre had wanted off planet, but this was not how she had imagined it. But if they managed to avoid the buckets, then she had gained something even better.



    TAG: HanSolo29, Sinrebirth, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  8. NickLitYouAFlame

    NickLitYouAFlame Jedi Master star 5

    Registered:
    Feb 27, 2007
    Elias Noble
    Shadow, Corellian moon

    Elias pulled both bodies up into the main hold of his ship. He dropped the living man onto the benches where he had been dozing less than an hour ago. Elias pulled the second man, the one he had killed, up and slumped him over next to the other. As he was strapping them down, his vision swam and he braced himself against the wall. What a whirlwind, he thought. Elias had already been out of it when he woke, and all the effort it took moving his large frame around in battle was taxing. Not to mention the pain in his shoulder wasn’t fading. Elias pushed off the wall and centered his breathing. Now was not the time to rest.

    Elias turned to the girl and the soldier. He realized that they were both watching him. He shook his head, beckoned towards the cockpit, and moved briskly. “I need a co-pilot. Can either of you fly?”

    Tag: @Ktala, Sinrebirth
     
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  9. Darth Dreadwar

    Darth Dreadwar Jedi Grand Master star 6

    Registered:
    Jan 26, 2010
    OOC: Presenting, combo post with Sinrebirth!


    IC: Azgath N'Dul
    Transferring to the Bellicose, Unknown Regions

    Azgath N'Dul completed his preparations for the transfer over the two hours between leaving the bridge and boarding the Bellicose. His first stop was to the Finaliser's medical bay, picking up a dozen bacta patches, which, lacking a bag, he floated in front of him, enjoying the wondrous looks of wounded troopers and onlooking nurses alike as he then walked to a minor medical officer, persuading him to relinquish a personal supply of glitterstim patches and caf pills that N'Dul well knew about, of course, having made rounds at a dinner party aboard the Star Destroyer some weeks prior while lightly crawling over the surfaces of their minds with his own telepathy. N'Dul strongly believed in being an enhanced version of himself; such were used commonly by, even prescribed to, fighter pilots logging day-long missions, and the boost to his telepathic ability and alertness was always a good thing given a potential combat situation. Be prepared, absurdly, overly prepared, that was the thought running through the young noble's warped, smokestone-infused mind as he made his way to his quarters, retrieving various personal effects he then deposited in a plasteel cylinder to be transported to his chambers aboard the Bellicose.

    A sonic hold-out pistol. A frag grenade concealed within a transparisteel faux gem, to be worn on a necklace. A personal Mandalorian melee shield and Verpine energy shield. A Yuuzhan Vong spy bug, a relative of the thud bug used for espionage and information aggregation purposes. An opaque black bodysuit of shadowskin for stealth. A molecular disruptor for temporarily shrinking objects. A mind evaporator so he could spend the most boring part of the trip in his virtual reality of choice. Most invaluable, a Rakatan mindspear. A shame I can no longer count the Gauntlet of Elcho Kressh among my effects.

    That having been done, N'Dul used his com to summon his staff to the hangar bay before boarding a shuttle for transit to his new command ship. The one-time Sith Lord had little use for such, but he found the political advantage of having an entourage to be invaluable; it gave his presence a sense of gravitas, and allowed him to seamlessly integrate friends - friends of N'Dul, of course, not Dreadwar - with a new command, granting himself a cabal of sorts that would be perceived weightier than merely a single, even Force-sensitive commander. Power is power, but power built on the perception of power is a truly delicious thing.

    His mind wandered, as ever, as the shuttle made its brief transit, barely taking in the identical hangar of the other Resurgent-class vessel or his walk to and from the turbolifts. N'Dul followed Crusher, lagging behind about two minutes as he directed some ensign to handle his effects with care and on the preferred layout of his new room, annoyed at the fact he had to deal with something so trivial when he had no time to waste. If I tarry in introducing myself to the Captain... Aban?... the Knight of Ren will surely attempt to inculcate a perception of sole authority in the meantime.

    He was on his way towards the bridge, dully glancing at the grey durasteel bulkheads as he walked the bustling decks, when a voice halted him in his tracks.

    As with any bilingual individual, it took several seconds for N'Dul to realise it was speaking an impossible language, several seconds more still for him to realise it was not one of his entourage speaking to him - his staff had already dispersed, with only the lone foolish ensign following N'Dul's rapid pace - but instead a voice intruding directly into his mind. He gestured the ensign, confused at N'Dul's abrupt stop, on ahead as he stared downwards at the floor, processing.

    'Strange... I sense a presence that I have not felt since... Since I lived...'

    'Ku'ar Danar?'

    A cold thrill passed through N'Dul's blood, bubbling out from the network of interlacing nihil smokestone that transmitted Dreadwar's possessing being. It was dark excitement, confusion, surprise rolled into one, the surge of adrenaline causing his skin to prickle. His very existence depended upon secrecy. He was not strong enough, yet, to risk so much as being known about in the galaxy. Suffice it to say this was a most disconcerting development, but he could hardly not be thoroughly enthralled by curiosity. He glanced upwards, realising he had since passed his new quarters, and was instead some twenty paces from Crusher's room. N'Dul stretched out with his senses, attempting to get a sense of the entity that had so addressed him. How was this possible? Worse, still, his ever-rational mind was already racing, putting together pieces from the scant information he had to go on; whoever could have lived during the time N'Dul had been known by that name could only have been very, very ancient indeed.

    He walked towards Crusher's room, steadily, evenly, his gait betraying nothing of his inner state, as he stretched little-used mental muscles to the shape of returning telepathy. 'I have not heard that name in a long time... a long time,' he returned, exuding a calm he did not feel, neither confirming nor denying. 'I can only assume you knew him... and given that you talk to me, I assume you held him no animus. If he was a friend, you should know he is long dead, or wishes to be perceived as such.'

    N'Dul - Ku'ar Danar, once Darth Dreadwar, Lord among Sith - waved his hand towards the door of Crusher's room, bidding it open before him. 'Who are you, and how did you know him, I wonder?'

    'Oh you are interested, I bet.'

    The voice took a haughty sneer as the door opened, not something that its owner was known for in his later life. The light of the corridor spilled into the room, vaguely defining the bunk and various nondescript items, as the blackout blind had engaged over the transparisteel window. There was little to say for the room, and it reflected the kind of holier than thou Order which gave up worldly possessions.

    Apart from the glowing item, atop of the pedestal, in the centre of the room, a meditation mat on the floor before it, recently disturbed and the imprint of Crusher's knees, unarmoured, it would appear, apparent.

    The sneer was still echoing through the room and undoubtedly Ku'ar's ears, as out of character as it supposedly was. But in many ways the owner's recording reflected the stages in which he had wrote it. Firstly as a Sith Lord, and then as a redeemed man, not even a Jedi, though eventually one would say that he died a true Jedi Master. As such the recording had both aspects within it, and the man had hoped to have buried the darkness deep within him, and thus, within his Holocron.

    Pyramidal due to having started life as a Sith Holocron it had, until recently, been long settled in Rhen Var, and had spoken to Anakin Skywalker before he fell, or rose, depending on your perspective. Skywalker had not realised the spirit was attached to something, considering it a disembodied spirit and not truly grasping the significance of that, nor of other light side spirits, until his untimely demise.

    For this, right here, and right now, was the Holocron of Ulic Qel-Droma.

    'Ku'ar Danar - I recognise you from when I raided your tomb, while you played with your food. To see you here, four millennia after, is incredible.'

    A wistful tone. 'The things I found in your tomb, built for a being who destroyed their own body, as amusing and quaint a historical anachronism as an empty tomb for Darth Sadow on Korriban... I directed the Massasai to make a Temple on Yavin 4 dedicated to just you, much as Exar made Temples dedicated to Naga Sadow, Marka Ragnos, Tulak Hord and so on.'

    'Oh I am sure you remember what I stole, after all.' Ulic's simulacrum all but smirked. 'Unless seven millennia addled your mind!'

    The man now wearing the mask of N'Dul smiled as he appraised the shimmering spectre before him. A true shade, he perceived, not merely a result of holographic technology, or at least a shard of one, potentially capable of being truly vivified, as the holocron-bound shard of Rivan's spirit had been on Almas.

    A flick of two fingers directed the Paraforce - the dark side, he reminded himself; become used to even calling it such in your own thoughts, lest your past be in any way intimated simply by your manner of speech - to close the door behind him with a whine of protesting motors. He chuckled then, harshly, a hissing laugh that seemed to strain a young throat not accustomed to such pellucid laughter. "Ulic, my old friieend," he narrowed his eyes at the apparition. "The gnat who stole victory - and so much more - out from under me." To the man who had been called Danar, these events had taken place only a little over three decades prior, yet of course they had, in fact, happened four millennia in the galaxy's past. But he hardly needed Ulic to know that.

    Lying came as naturally and quickly to Dreadwar as breathing. Countless sapients toiled under the stress of it, somehow thinking truth to be good and natural, whereas Dreadwar recognised that all information was interconnected, all information could leak and betray other truths. To create a patchwork puzzle of deception, that led to none of his secrets being discovered, it was best to simply default to lying, and only tell truths to shore up those deceptions, to make them seem more reliable.

    "It is incredible, is it not?" Dreadwar spoke proudly and reverently, then, his eyes lighting up in truthful recognition of his own triumphant accomplishments. "I live, and yet I live... as I have for four thousand years. While you called this holocron your home, and built unto me Temples of deserved reverence, I called palaces my home, and had servants build unto me space stations capable of destroying entire planets. I have been known as Lords Vitiate, Valkorion, Bane... Palpatine, Emperor of the galaxy." These were all utterly blatant lies, of course, although ones that would seem plausible to a spirit who had presumably no knowledge of galactic affairs, and who no doubt knew of Danar's propensity to don many different identities through rite of possession over the millennia.

    While he repeated the oft-rehearsed lie, the Force betraying none of his deception thanks to its mental origin in fact being parsecs away, N'Dul's brain sputtered and sparked with infiltrating intelligence, thoughts racing along different dimensions. A relief that the man who knew his true identity was merely a relic of the past, for certain. A Sith upstart whose home I will, conveniently enough, be visiting. But nonetheless, still a risk, so long as it remained in Crusher's possession. He brought his com to his lips, holding an arrogant finger up to Qel-Droma, asking to delay in his response as he barked an order to the ensign, to fetch a decorative transparisteel diamond from his effects and use a plasma torch to cut the top half into a hollow pyramid sans base, and bring some crimson light-emitting diodes.

    His finger, and his wrist com, fell to his sides. "Continue," Ku'ar Danar sneered.

    Qel-Droma looked bemused, blatantly brimming with overconfidence. 'You have a little plan, distilled already?'

    'It is a shame you just lied to me. In the possession of that little Knight of Ren I have been for nearly eight years hence - a gamble to lie in that case, no? If not enough it was that you paused between mentioning Bane and Palpatine. An amusing tell.'

    Ulic folded his arms. 'As a Sith you incinerated your body to attach yourself to a world, so one can only assume this is another pawn of yours. You are never really here, are you? Attached to more than one at time, knowing you, living in eternal fear that one day you will become detached from one too many places and cast off into the depths...'

    He all but leaned forward. 'Meanwhile I already have found redemption, and this slither of my soul, is inconsequential to me. I am beyond you, Ku'ar Danar.'

    Dreadwar grinned, displaying rotting teeth, built by a body hardly saturated with midichlorians and not gradually inured to the ravages of true power, rapidly succumbing to the oppressive weight of the dark side.

    Dreadwar had long ago learned to conceal his state of mind better than putting on a blank face when someone discussed a dangerous topic; his old master had taught him the art of Sith deceptions, of one-level deceptions, two-level deceptions, and so on. So either Qel-Droma was in fact modeling Dreadwar as a one-level player, which made Qel-Droma himself two-level, and Dreadwar's three-level move had been a failure; or Qel-Droma was a four-level player and wanted Dreadwar to think the deception had been unsuccessful. Of course, if one should ask Ku'ar Danar at what level he played at, his answer - in thought alone, never aloud, of course - would be 'One level higher than you.'

    "Why do you think I lie, I wonder? Your disbelief is quite irrelevant, if unsurprising; never has there been any living being to truly unravel the layers at which I plot, plots within plots, lies within lies... And you of all people should learn to distrust the superficial warp of history, knowing how much is obfuscation for ancient Sith designs."

    He waved his hand, the holocron rising gently off the table. Of course I have a plan, Dreadwar thought to himself, surprised Qel-Droma even felt the need to question his prodigious intellect. I have a plan for if a bantha should fall into Naga Sadow's alchemical apparatus and emerge a pink Gorog-sized planet-killing monster.

    He turned towards the door, the holocron circling until it floated some meters in front of him. Dreadwar hardly needed to respond to Qel-Droma's haughty proclaim with a jibe in kind, when this reminder of who was alive and who was dead more than sufficed. "And indeed, your perception is acute," he replied instead. "I am indeed a fearful man, but such has not served me ill; I have walked further down the path of immortality than any other. I am undying. Whereas you... still labouring under the burden of dualistic formulations of identity, I see? No part of you found redemption. There is no life after death," he sneered as he walked out of Crusher's room, the holocron maintaining an even distance as he made the short trek to his own room, "only nothingness greeted you, Jidai!"

    Fortunately so used to Dreadwar transporting personal effects in such a manner were Naval staff that he did not care if anyone saw, for it would hardly be unusual, but it seemed the corridor was empty anyway.

    Qel-Droma was tempted to project himself out to Crusher, to draw his attention, but was genuinely curious as to what Ku'ar sought. No offence mattered to him, and his knowledge could not be seized, not without risking Ku'ar being absorbed by the Holocron and his mind shattered, anyway. Ulic was quite content to mentally jibe at him until Ku'ar did that, of course.

    So he sought to state the obvious, dripping his voice in sarcasm. 'Crusher will notice you have stolen his Holocron, don't you think? And then your little infiltration will be for naught.'

    Dreadwar lazily waved the door to his new quarters aside, noting the droids working on installing his preferred bed, with its rich wooden bedposts carved into the shape of snarling Tuk'ata hounds. He waved them out of the room; he knew their photoreceptors would not pick up Qel-Droma's spirit, but having any sort of recording of him talking to a pyramidal device just wouldn't do.

    "Your ingenuity always did have limits, child," he returned, as he set the holocron down upon his bedside caf table. "Suppose you are left with the following dilemma: how to steal a holocron without its owner ever knowing he lost anything? How to retrieve the knowledge within, when to attempt to tear it from you would endanger my own mind?" He unscrewed the large plasteel container the droids had evidently just left near his footlocker, his right hand retrieving a thin evidently biotechnological device of opaque fiber-photon. His most prized possession, the one a similarly ingenious Dreadwar from the... past... future?... had used to cheat--No more. Even thinking such thoughts, despite the strength of the mental shields ensconcing N'Dul's feeble brain, represented a chance one percent too high. "This is a Rakatan mindspear, Qel-Droma. If you have solved my little riddle, then you should deduce what this unfamiliar device is capable of."

    A crackling voice emanated from N'Dul's wrist com, confirming that the ensign had hastened to his task, and was on his way to completing it. It will be a crude thing, but enough for my purposes. His left hand briefly played with a second device - a molecular disruptor, of the sort that had once been used to temporarily shrink two droids of some historical note - considering that Qel-Droma's holocron could be scaled down and hidden within his necklace. But no, with something as delicate as the crystalline matrices that comprised the inner workings of the holocron, he dared not experiment with such molecular manipulation, as amusing as the mental image of an inch-tall projection of Qel-Droma sprouting from his collar was.

    For once Qel-Droma scowled. 'Memory tricks? On a Knight of Ren? I cannot see how emptying his whole persona will keep your secret. That will likely be noticed.'

    A spectral shrug. 'I do not see he endgame, here. I cannot see you being close enough to succeed in whatever your long term design is, if you were so easily deterred from it by little old Ulic Qel-Droma.' His tone was insulting, bemused and sarcastic, all aloof and lazy, as if there was nothing more beneath him than Ku'ar Danar.

    If the Mindspear works on even powerful Jedi, I do not believe a Knight of Ren could resist. Dreadwar had some unfortunate experience with Rakatan technology; he had poured the power of a deity into resisting the infernal mechanisms of a Mind Trap, only for his efforts to hasten his own doom by supplying the Force-based device with a greater supply of power.

    "Not emptying his whole intellect, little fool," Danar chuckled, matching Qel-Droma's lazy condescension. "Only his memories of successfully activating your holocron... and his subsequent interaction with your little soul-shard here," he waved casually in the apparition's direction. "He shall realise the 'holocron' I will have placed in your room is an imitation only after he goes to activate it, and thus activating this Rakatan device hidden within; his memory shall not inform him the simulacrum is different from the holocron he recovered from... Rhen Var, one assumes... and give up on it, all his knowledge gleaned from you lost to the Mindspear."

    He smiled, his tone drooping to let mockery roll off his tongue. "And then I shall retrieve the Mindspear, and transfer those memories to this little pawn's mind," N'Dul gestured to his own cranium, "gaining whatever knowledge you imparted to him while simultaneously making this petty theft unknown... and unknowable."

    Dreadwar shrugged. "I might return his memories to him, if only to incite his wrath, but I would suggest you not encourage such a possibility," his smile widened, cracking his young face horribly in a deathly slit. "I would first have to crush this holocron into fine crystalline dust."

    Ulic Qel-Droma, in life, had been a Krath and then Sith for a limited amount of time, and his knowledge of the Order had been secondhand as a Jedi, and then as the apprentice to the Dark Lord. Exar Kun was more learned than he, having been brought to the Sith at the hands of Freedon Nadd and other Sith influences. His raid on Ku'ar Danar's tomb had been a grab for his own secrets, for his own knowledge, for his own weapons to eventually supplant the Master, but his dedication to annihilation of the hated Jedi and Republic, who had done nothing to stop his Masters death - while he had seized the Krath for himself - had occupied much of his time and effort before the Battle of Ossus.

    And as such, while Qel-Droma could grasp at what Ku'ar Danar had said to him... There was very little he could do to stop him.

    Ulic firmed his lips. 'You have me there.' A shrug. 'You are going to drain those memories regardless of my contribution, and I can tell you that I didn't tell Crusher about you.' A dark smile crossed his visage. 'You're my dark secret, my friend.'

    Dreadwar fiddled with the Mindspear in his hand, concentration split between Qel-Droma and his work as he infused the device with his powers, manipulating its eldritch molecular machinery with a touch here, a touch there, configuring it to his preferences. He worked for quite awhile, silently, knowing that for Qel-Droma, the passage of time would mean very little.

    An intake of breath, finally signifying a response, before a knocking on the door roused Dreadwar from his fiddling and cut him short. He stared meaningfully at the apparition for a few short seconds, before turning to greet his ensign outside his quarters. The holocron was out of sight, but Dreadwar let the door slide shut behind him anyway, as he ran an appraising eye over the crude replica that his staff had furnished for him. "This will do," he said, noting the internal lighting indeed gave the faux holocron a very convincing aura. Dreadwar was counting on Crusher returning to his chambers and activating the holocron being routine for him, likely meaning Crusher wouldn't even inspect the holocron before; this would hold up to even a casual inspection, if it wasn't for the Force. Of course, that's where the Mindspear came in. Its dark side aura should be more than adequate to convince Crusher, just as one Darth Insipid had tricked even Dreadwar's senses by concealing Rakatan technology within a holocron. He returned to his room, smiling at Qel-Droma.

    "You may not have told him of me, or ever will," Dreadwar responded to Qel-Droma at last. He trusted the gatekeeper to not be offended at the delay. "But it would not be the first time a darksider ripped knowledge from a holocron's depths, regardless of its gatekeeper's will," he said, slotting the Mindspear into the hole that had been drilled in the holocron's base.

    "Besides," he rose an eyebrow, "would you rather have Crusher for company, Qel-Droma? Or an older friend...?"

    His task done, Dreadwar held up his replica to the light of the real thing. "Sufficient, no?"

    Qel-Droma could not do anything apart from allow his features to contort to reveal how impressed he was. 'Clearly you've seen this done before.'

    'Wheels within wheels mentality, after all,' the four millennia old spirit said to the seven millennia one. Between aged monsters, respect flowed, and even though there was a certain amount of envy when one encountered an elder spirit, age did not denote experience, and in terms of activity, Qel-Droma had been safe for many, many years. All the visitation of Anakin Skywalker to his tomb on Rhen Var had done was ignite the desire to influence the material world once more, even though Ulic Qel-Droma could add his name to the roll-call of influences upon the birth of Darth Vader.

    ' A friend would suffice. I do not see the need to watch 'Crusher' on his train-wreck of a fate. It is one we know well, even if they do appear to have maintained a balance between competing influences upon Kylo Ren.'

    'I have observed him, on occasion, parsed his dreams and nightmares. Crusher had instructed me not to, but it was far too much of a temptation to see what broke Ben Solo.' Qel-Droma allowed his voice to become wistful, knowing that such nuggets of information would entice Danar, but also conscious that he needed to stay in contact with the man if he was going to have the opportunity to influence the martial world again.

    Qel-Droma reached out a hand, and an exertion in the Force rippled out, allowing the tinge of the ersatz Holocron of Ulic Qel-Droma to echo with his touch, to sell the deception.

    'Friends and partners, perhaps.'

    "Perhaps," Dreadwar said. He welcomed the compliment regarding his well-honed ability in forging holocrons, and Ulic's own touch to the deception, but did not rise to the bait of Qel-Droma enticing him with secrets of the Master of Ren. To display interest would give Qel-Droma power over him, and reveal just how curious he was, given the crucial role Ben Solo must surely one day play in Dreadwar's larger orchestrations. Yet he raised an eyebrow nonetheless, for to maintain an entirely disinterested face would no doubt betray his effort to conceal his genuine intrigue.

    The ancient Sith Lord wearing the body of the young Imperial noble straightened, his rich burgundy robes stretching over something of a gut that had nonetheless been rapidly deflating since Danar's possession, as he smiled at the Gatekeeper. Not benignly, but it was a smirk intimating the possibility for the most insidious sort of friendship, certainly. "While generally it is the holocron that imparts knowledge to the living, perhaps I might one day tell you of how the seeming of your spirit might be rekindled from a receptacle, vivified to true life?"

    Apokatastethi, apokatastethi, apokatastethi to soma hou emoi (emoi).

    He briefly rehearsed the archaic Thyrsusian translation of one such a Sith spell in his head, idly, knowing that Qel-Droma would sense the undercurrent beneath his mental shields, no doubt wetting his spectral lips at the thought of what knowledge just might be lacing the nihil smokestone embedded in N'Dul's slowly dying brain.

    Then N'Dul abruptly turned, the poor man's replica firmly in grasp as he walked out of the room, leaving Qel-Droma no doubt with much left unsaid, to ruminate on Dreadwar's implication of a potential offer. Whether it was sincere or not, of course... Well, one could never tell with Ku'ar Danar. Sometimes, given his habit of using memory rubs on himself - as an example, so that he would believe himself to be close to death, and thus engage his otherwise limited ability of precognition, by hiring actors or mercenaries to stage an attack on himself - neither could even Danar.

    N'Dul passed the ensign on the way out, not even turning to acknowledge him for his speedy work, instead merely flicking his fingers, gesturing him to leave back the way he came. Gnat.

    He waved his hand as he walked past Crusher's room, willing the door to part again so he could toss the Holocron through the entrance way, to be carried gently by an invisible hand to rest on the table. He shook his head as he glanced at his wrist chrono, wondering just how many minutes - hours? - had been consumed by this most unexpected but welcome interruption. Qel-Droma, aboard this vessel... Well, I do believe my mind evaporator will not be needed for entertainment purposes on this little jaunt. Speaking of entertainment...

    Azgath N'Dul strode forth onto the bridge, his brown eyes instantly finding the armoured figure ahead. He was curious why the Knight of Ren had such an appellation, given that an insect was typically the one who was crushed, not the one who did said crushing. He whispered into his wrist com before drawing closer to Crusher - and is that Captain Aban? - summoning his entourage to the command centre. Given his delay, he would have to do all that he must to stamp his own authority upon his new command before Crusher did, after all. Perhaps I should empty his entire brain, he thought, smiling insipidly at Crusher.

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  10. galactic-vagabond422

    galactic-vagabond422 Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2009
    OOC: Made in conjunction with Sinrebirth

    IC: Rhoen Aquilla
    Galactic Voyager, outskirts of the Ruan system.

    "Another?" Wedge stopped to look over the fallen TIE pilot. "A special forces TIE usually carries two, you're right." Knowing he was right did little to comfort Rhoen, it just meant that there could be another one of these people running around, waiting to cause trouble. His hand moved to his blaster as the General muttered, "I'm still used to TIE's without shields or a hyperdrive, let alone a rear gunner." The young pilot nodded his head, times and technology changed but, it still took beings to operate them and last he checked beings made mistakes. "Threepio, issue a general alert," Wedge ordered the droid on the other side of the door, "We may have a second infiltrator." He didn't wait for the, no doubt panicked, reply from the protocol droid. Rhoen couldn't fault Threepio, he wasn't programed for this. "We're going to have to continue this on the move."

    "Yes sir," Rhoen said drawing his own blaster as the doors opened again. He followed closely behind Wedge as more armed troopers rushed past.

    "I know you've never commanded anything," the young pilot set his jaw, he may have been inexperienced but, that was no reason to look down on him, "but I knew your mother and if you are anything like she was you'll be fine."

    Rhoen stopped in his tracks,

    Was,

    Past tense,

    His once clenched jaw went slack. Part of him couldn't believe it. He was still in shock when Wedge pulled him into a barracks. Another pilot was ordered out by the older man, Rhoen didn't notice.

    "It occurs to me that you don't know if anyone survived Hosnian. My initial reports suggest that the answer is no, Captain. I'm very sorry for your loss," A crushing weight slammed across his shoulders, causing him to lean against a wall to try and keep himself up right. "and if you were unaware, I am sorry for referencing her in the past tense before you were told by Chief Omas." The young man's legs gave out from under him. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor. He heard Wedge clear his throat, feeling a bit of the same emotion. "Your mother was one of the very best, and I know she would have instilled that into you - which is why you've been assigned the squadron and this mission, at my recommendation."

    Rhoen looked up jaw quivering tears in his eyes. His mother was gone, no mission could bring her back, nothing could. A painful sob escaped his chest, he wanted to scream, to swear vengeance on the First Order, to shout curses at the top of his lungs until his sadness was gone. All he could muster was a few weak sobs, as more tears ran down his red face. She promised to take him up in the T-16, to let him fly her around the farm, just like they used to. He planned to show her how good he gotten, pulling barrel rolls and loops. He planned to challenge her to a simulation dogfight, he'd planned so many things for their day off together, now he'd never get to the chance. He put his head down pressing his forehead into his knees. It was becoming too much for him, he needed a release.

    A strangled cry left his mouth, as countless tears continued to fall, one thought ran though his head,

    'She's gone'

    Wedge took the full force of his not unsubstantial aches and pains to get down on his haunches to Rhoen. He took the gaze face on, because he knew that he deserved to give Rhoen his undivided attention.

    "I am not going to say the things you already know. I have been there, and you know my story." Wedge couldn't put into words the deaths of his parents at Gus Tetra, but it was a wound which was old, now, and filled with his new family, Iella, Syal and Myri. The four of them had taken a quieter approach to matters with the end of the Yuuzhan Vong War, but Leia had taken his Insider network as the basis of the Resistance, so he had ended up being at least nominally involved. When the battle had become about his best friend Luke, he had been back in a flash, and Iella too, adding the experience to that of other veterans such as Ackbar, Ematt and so on. In pilots such as Poe and Rhoen, Wedge had seen a lot of himself, and supporting that was half of his call now he was largely strapped to a desk.

    "Rhoen, I did some things I'm not proud of as a person, back then, but I had positive influences around me. I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you what I need you for is going to be important."

    "If I can rely upon you."

    The older man's words helped stop the tears but, they didn't stop the hurt. Knowing that Wedge had gone thought the same helped as well but, this wound would take time. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her. Orange New Republic flightsuit, her helmet tucked under her arm. Her squadron patch painted on the right side and on the left, a yellow disk ringed in red with three green stalks of grain rising up and bending gently in the foreground. He knew he'd always be in her shadow, and he liked it there. It wasn't oppressive, wasn't smothering, it was comforting. He let out a few sharp breaths, finally letting out the last of his sorrow. He had to continue her legacy. He had a lot to live up to, and he wasn't going to do that sitting on the ground. He wasn't going to make the First Order pay, not just for his mother but, for all the lives lost in their cowardly attack, if he remained on the floor.

    He took another deep breath and stood at his full height, it wasn't impressive, 1.73 meters but, pilots weren't known for being tall. He rubbed his face wiping away the tears. Taking a few more breaths, choking down the lump that had settled in his throat, he set his gaze on Antilles, reaching out a hand to help the other pilot to his feet.

    "Thank you sir," he said bowing his head a little, "Apologies for my behavior, I've been waiting two weeks for this news. Hearing it now…" he looked away slightly ashamed of his actions, he was thankful that Wedge understood what he was going though. "It hit me all at once. You can rely on me now." He hardened his face, and let out another sharp breath, his nostrils flaring a bit. "I'm more determined than ever to bring this fight to the First Order." In the back of his mind he knew that he'd have to tell his father. Tell his father that the love of his life was dead. Screwing his eyes shut, he locked those feelings away, put them in a box for later. There wasn't any more time for him to grieve. "What do you need from me?"

    Wedge nodded. It was what he wanted to hear, but that wasn't all. Determination was what they needed, not vengeance, and for Rhoen to still be thinking meant that he was on-board with that. Standing, carefully, Wedge accepted the hand offered by Rhoen. "That's what I needed to hear." Wedge smiled, a tight professional expression which coupled with his tone indicated that they had moved to more officials matters. Turning, Wedge lead them towards the hangar.

    "As you can expect, we don't have a lot of avenues to strike. This isn't news to anyone on-board, but the attack on Hosnian Prime cost us badly. A full twenty percent of our traditional armed forces were lost, most of our larger flagships, and with it much of our military command and government structure." Wedge sounded somber, trying to recall worse disasters. The fall of Coruscant to the Yuuzhan Vong came to mind, but the loss of the Senate had not been coupled with the loss of New Republic Command, and so in a way the military was freed up to fight back when Coruscant fell. Cal Omas didn't take that initiative back from his officers but in many ways he would have been unable to. In this case the problem was larger, as everything was in the void now. "Your mission is going to be the only official New Republic response we have. As such you will have to accept command of an eighteen pilot Corona Squadron in the meantime - things are that severe."

    They reached the hangar, and he tilted his head to the X-wings gathered. "You have your choice of X-wing variant, we're a bit kitbash at the moment, so I shall leave that to you."

    "But the mission." Wedge took a breath. "We, with the Resistance, are forming a squadron to cover a mission to kill Supreme Leader Snoke and capture Kylo Ren. The Resistance leadership will be at a location on this datapad," Wedge produced it from a pocket and held it out to Rhoen. "For the allotted time. 'If we don't make the rendezvous, I don't know if you will ever catch up with them, with the issues we have with communications. It is essential that Corona Squadron join up; the Resistance was hit hard taking down Starkiller base, and they didn't have a great deal of munitions or pilots beforehand; the Senate wouldn't give them over, and now we don't have them to lend."

    "This is literally all we can spare, and you are all we have to lead them." Wedge didn't immediately let go of the datacard. "I know you might not approve of this mission, but I need to know that you are on-board."

    Rhoen had one reply, "Yes sir," A chance to take out the 'Supreme Leader' of the First Order how could he say no. But, an even heavier weight laid across his shoulders, he was in command of Corona Squadron for this mission. It would be the most important mission he ever undertook, but was he ready? Did he have what it took to lead a squad out in a vital mission? He sets his feet taking the datacard from Wedge, he'd have to be, there were no other options. Putting the storage device under his arm, he gave a proper salute to the commander. "I won't let you down, sir." He dropped the salute and began making preparations.

    First he changed out of his standard New Republic uniform and into his flightsuit, putting his blaster into the shoulder holster he usually kept it in. He grabbed his helmet and look at the front of it for just a moment. It was similar to his mother's, his old squadron patch on the right side, and on the left a design of his own. It's a yellow half circle bordered in red, below it is a silver half circle bordered in blue, they met to make a whole. The place where the two came together was uneven. The silver half rises in the middle giving the image the appearance of a sun setting on a vast silver sea. It was a reference most Chandrilans would understand straight away. He rubbed a sleeve over it to get some grime off, letting out another breath. He still didn't feel prepared, still didn't feel ready. His heart had jumped up into his throat and was working on suffocating him.

    He took another moment to let his emotions pass, let the tension release from him body. His mother was gone, and a huge responsibility rested on his still young shoulders but, now he had purpose, he had a mission to carry out. His mother gave him many things, his eyes, his laugh, and most importantly, his will. Once they set their minds to something, nothing stood in their way. This brought them into conflict many times, especially when he was going through the motions of joining the Starfighter Corps. but, he wouldn't change it. He had his sights set on dismantling the First Order, and he'd take any weight, except any burden, do whatever was necessary to see that happen.

    He walked back into the hangar, head held high, jaw set firmly, to find Corona Squadron assembled. He recognized a few from his training, others not as much. He gave a nod to a Devaronian male he knew named Pejastrophan Drogen, though he preferred to be called Pej, and he insisted that his rather interesting name was a family one. A little further down was Vimara Parri, a human woman with wiry blonde hair and piercing blue eyes set into a determined face, her skin was a darker shade similar to beings from Haruun Kal, she wasn't from there, she'd made it very clear. The last he could recognize at a glance was Allais Shale a Balosar man with a wry grin on his face, in the conversations Rhoen had with the man he was very proud of where he came from, not Balosar but, Carratos.

    Standing in front of them, helmet tucked under his arm, Rhoen lifted his chin, "I'm sure you've all received your orders to make ready to head to Yavin IV. We must depart quickly so I will keep this brief." He gave as stern a face as he could looking over the collected pilots. "Our orders are to link up with elements of the Resistance and…" he waited for a moment, settling his heart, now was not the time for a fiery speech but, he couldn't stop a hint of emotion from entering his voice, "Embark on a mission to kill Supreme Leader Snoke, and capture Kylo Ren." A few cheers went up and some applauded, Rhoen doubted it was due to his moving words. "This is our chance to strike back at the First Order for their craven attack on the Hosian system." He left unsaid of the losses, his mother included, everyone in that hangar knew the score, the New Republic was hurting but, action needed to be taken, and they were chosen to take it. "We will bring the fight right to their doorstep, show them that we may be hurt, but, aren't dying, we are saddened but, not in despair. We will show them what happens when you push the Republic. As Alderaan proceeded Yavin, Hoisan shall proceed the destruction of the First Order, and we will be the implement that brings it." His words bolstered him at the least. He kept his tone determined, not shouting or slamming his fist like some fanatic, he needed to seem in control, of himself and his emotions. "Now get to your ships, and may the Force be with us."

    Rhoen watched as his, he'd have to get used to referring to them as such, pilots fanned out making light conversation and selecting their X-wings. All kinds were available. The young pilot made his way over to a T-70, with yellow lines running down the side, it was a little older, a little slower than the T-85 he was used to flying but, he liked the way it handled and the on board 'ground buzzer' would be helpful if he ended up landing on an hostile planet. He ran his hand along the fuselage fingers shaking a bit. It was hard for him to hide his nervousness now he was about to set off on the most vital mission he'd ever undertaken. His heart was a mess of nerves and excitement. A silver and white R6 unit was put in to the socket as Rhoen climbed up the ladder into the cockpit. Inside he started going through his pre-flight checks, just like he was trained to do. As the canopy came down he looked over his shoulder towards the astromech.

    "Hello," Rhoen started trying to release some of the energy that was pent up inside him, "what's your designation my little friend?" The droid beep a reply that was translated on a screen on the instrument panel. "R6-A1, huh," the pilot said reading the translation. "I'm going to call you Ace, sound good?" Rhoen had gotten used to using different astromechs sometimes, most were largely the same but, there were times when you got one with a different personality. The little droid replied in the affirmative. "Alright Ace, I hope we work well together, we're about to get thrown into the thick of things, you ready?" The tweet from the droid seemed almost happy to be useful, "Well that'll make one of us friend." His hand shook as he took the control stick into his left and the throttle in his right. The pit in his stomach grew as he taxied out to the launch area. He snapped off a salute to the hangar crew and launched into space, it was a textbook takeoff. He doubted the rest of the mission would go as smoothly. Putting the datacard he'd gotten from Antilles into the slot he looked back over his shoulder, "Ace, start plotting a course to these coordinates."

    Rhoen waited a few moments letting the rest of his squadron to launch as well. After a bit, he called out over comm, "All pilots report it." He put each voice and callsign into his memory, so he could recognize them. "Alright Ace, beam that route to all other fighters." The droid tweeted happily again, "This is Corona Leader," he straightened his shoulders saying that, subconsciously trying to emulate all the other commanders he's seen, "All pilots prepare to make the jump to hyperspace, your astormechs should have the route locked in." He started going through the motions of making the jump, it would take a moment or two but, what could happen in that time.

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  11. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Belila Gambros (Bre)
    Shadow Moon - Corellia

    Big Blue pulled the bodies up into his ship, and dropped them quicky. One on a bench, the other on the floor next to him. As Big Blue leaned over, Bre noticed him brace himself against the wall. She kept her face neutral. Fred decided to stay silent for the moment.

    Blue pushed off the wall and centered his breathing, then turned to look at her and the other guy. He shook his head, beckoned towards the cockpit, and moved briskly. “I need a co-pilot. Can either of you fly?

    Bre nodded, and then whistled, calling for Fred. Fred gave a worried beep, as he climbed outta his hiding spot, and began to roll to follow, a nervous set of beeps softly being emitted. Bre waved her hand, as she followed Big Blue.

    "Yeah, I can fly. It aint graceful, but it will get us out of here, fast enough. Fred can too." She thumbed a gesture towards her small companion.

    Bre followed behind Blue, as he lead the way. Hopefully, he would do most of the flying, but she could tell, that he was not feeling well. And probably why as well. But that would wait for later. She just hoped Paxton and his crew dusted off as well.


    TAG: HanSolo29, Sinrebirth, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  12. Darth_wanderguard

    Darth_wanderguard Game Host star 6 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    Apr 26, 2005
    OOC: Going a little bit free-for-all here with Sinre's permission.

    IC: Kodo Prine -- Dagobah Swamp

    Kodo seethed as the trooper's head hit the wet ground with a squelchy thud. The body followed soon after.

    "Well done, my friend. Now another! You have been alone here, in peace. Done nothing to them, have you. Kill them, as they wish to do to you, you should."

    The Kel Dor took a few heaving breaths, hesitantly enjoying the feeling of power that coursed through him. Nearby, another Stormtrooper approached unawares. The decision was already made in his mind as he moved forward quickly with his saber still drawn, knowing what he was to do before he was even seen.

    The trooper spotted him and leveled his rifle to take a shot. With a deft swipe Kodo deflected the bolt sent in his direction, and lustfully closed the remaining distance. With a quick upward slash, the trooper's blaster was no more. Fluidly his blade reversed course, now brought downward with a two handed grip, and bisected the Stormtrooper from shoulder to hip.

    As this second attacker fell dead, the Jedi looked upon what he had done, his high having only escalated with another kill. Then in the distance, he felt a ripple in the force. Not from the darkness, but the light. Something familiar, even.

    And he felt only guilt.

    "Careful my child, you could be facing something associated with the enemy here. Little Ben Solo has found you at last, perhaps!"

    He shook his head abruptly and blinked as if to clear the voices from it. He looked down again to the body which lay at his feet, and he sagged. The air went out from him, and a foulness stretched within from his chest into the pit of his stomach. He felt no shame at defending himself. But to enjoy it, to feel such wanton bloodlust. He felt as though he should crawl like a beast.

    Quickly he sent out a return force signature, and started off swiftly with his head held low, in the direction the first had come. It was not long before he found himself before Kyle Katarn. After so many years alone he would have relished a reunion with such a friend and mentor as Kyle, if not for the shame which now prevented him from looking up and into the bearded man's eyes.

    TAG: Sinrebirth


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  13. HanSolo29

    HanSolo29 RPF/SWC/Fan Art Manager & Bill Pullman Connoisseur star 7 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Apr 13, 2001
    Duke Praxon
    Shadow, Corellian Moon

    As fate would have it, Praxon would not be afforded the courtesy of a simple and quick explanation. If anything, he surmised that things only got more complicated. Before his attacker could even open his mouth to speak, three distinct words wafted up from the plaza below, amplified by an outside force that Praxon could not even begin to explain:

    "FIRST ORDER INCOMING!"

    At first, he thought the words were simply in his mind – it would have been easy to imagine with the chaos unfolding around them – but one look at the bulbous eyes of his attacker confirmed that the other man had heard it too. Something akin to fear briefly crossed Praxon's features as he envisioned himself being hauled away and tortured by stormtroopers, but that was soon replaced with a quieter resolve as he gained a deeper understanding of the situation.

    With the arrival of the First Order, it was now fairly clear that the man had not been lying about his status with the Resistance…at least, not entirely. Something was still amiss with the way they had been openly attacked and Praxon was not about to let that go. While the man was still dangerous, he was nothing compared to the threat of the First Order and what would happen if they discovered that he was currently harboring a fugitive.

    Panic began to rise within his chest, and for a brief moment, he considered jettisoning the man from his ship in one final desperate moment, but his conscience soon got the better of him. He couldn't bring himself to simply throw this man out to those dogs, even if he did deserve it for shooting Wyn. The thought also occurred to him that it was probably already too late to successfully pull that off anyway. If troopers had been called to the vicinity, they would notice something as obvious as the man’s departure from the ship, which would be all the proof they needed to condemn Praxon of a crime. That was not an option, not for someone of his status. He had worked too hard to build up his persona to throw everything away so casually. Even his charity campaign, which is what had brought him to Shadow in the first place, had been carefully orchestrated to generate only the right amount of publicity. He’d be damned if he was going to allow the First Order to topple everything - what he considered to be his little empire.

    Unfortunately for Praxon, that meant that he had been left with only one other choice in regards to his unwelcome guest.

    Even as he processed the thought in his mind – of allowing the man to remain safely hidden aboard his ship – he curled his nose up with disgust. He may not like it, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have options. In fact, he was already closing his hand into a fist as he finally disengaged himself from the struggle. His pulse quickened with anticipation as he realized that he had never openly opposed someone in such a manner before. Outside of conducting intricately choreographed fights on the set of a holofilm, he had been clean.

    Well, there’s a first time for everything!

    Lunging forward with an awkward right hook, he connected squarely with the man’s temple. The impact of his fist against flesh and bone produced a sickening crunch, which brought some semblance of satisfaction to his features.

    “That’s for Wyn,” he asserted with an air of defiance, wincing a bit as he cradled his now aching hand.

    After retrieving the blaster that had still been clutched in the man’s hand and stuffing it hastily into his waistband, Praxon turned to make his retreat. Along the way, he stooped to collect Wyn, managing to drape her arm unceremoniously across his shoulder to offer her support. Of course, it was more like dragging dead-weight, but somehow, he was able to get himself situated, and together, they hobbled their way towards the cockpit.

    TAG: Sinrebirth, Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  14. Sinrebirth

    Sinrebirth Mod-Emperor of the EUC, Lit, RPF and SWC star 10 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Nov 15, 2004
    Chapter Four

    Now.

    Mara Jade Skywalker was not the happiest woman in the galaxy. Neither was her son, Ben Skywalker. Mara understood the need of Luke to get away. She really did. But it had been years now, and Mara had been left holding the baby. Literally.

    Talon Karrde stepped up beside her as Mara watched Ben, now pushing on for eight years old, playing with some kind of holographic that Booster had set up, being as the Errant Venture had been almost permanently the location of the Jedi children whose training had been abandoned by firstly Luke, and then the Council, unable to agree on anything. Slowly but surely the children had, where possible, gone home, and Talon had done his best to protect them with new identities and so far. But now a war was afoot? The Council would be needed.

    What Council, though?

    Clighal was feared dead in the Hosnian disaster as the Senator of Mon Calamari. Kyp had gone off on some foolhardy crusade and not been heard from since he crossed the Remnant border. Kyle had gone on his own mission to find Luke with his apprentices, former and current, and nobody had seen him for a year. Corran came and went from the Venture, as when either could track each other down, as much as Mara did. Tresina had vanished into the underworld, and Saba had last been sighted on her homeworld, assisting in the recovery of her species, but that was years ago now, what with the warren nature of the planet. Kam and Tionne checked in from time to time, well, Tionne did, but not for the last two years. Jacen was still missing, and Jaina had vanished on her own scheme to track down Ben Solo.

    'Is it true?' Mara said, to Talon, though not taking her eyes off Ben.

    'About Han?' Talon sighed. 'Rey confirmed it to Leia, but she's vanished with Ackbar, and Chewie has gone with Rey into the Unknown Regions. The only other witness was this Finn guy, but he's still in a coma.'

    'So you don't know.'

    'My network has been hit by this chaos as much as anyone else.'

    Mara nodded, more to herself than anything. 'I hear my lightsaber turned up?'

    'In the possession of Maz, I gather.' Talon continued, into the answer to the obvious question. 'She's vanished after her place was wrecked by the First Order.'

    'So we're on the outside of this.'

    'I can easily find you some troopers to knock down or a Star Destroyer to take on, but I couldn't tell you if it would achieve anything. My ciphers into the HoloNet are being locked down, and there is no central government for me to tap into. Kalenda hasn't appeared and the NRI is wrecked. Sovv has sequestered himself on Sullust but he's too far away from the action to have a real impact. The First Fleet is gone, and the Second Fleet is shredded. A lot of vessels are being recalled to their home sectors, and so there isn't a NRDF to rally.'

    'So it's in Leia's hands?'

    'Leia and whoever she manages to pull together.'

    Mara squared her shoulders. 'I'm going out there.'

    Talon didn't say anything. 'Ben will be safe here.'

    'No he won't,' said Mara. 'But if I don't do this, he won't be safe anywhere ever again.'

    ---
    IC: Captain Tavira[/i]
    Near the Galactic Voyager, Ruan system, Imperious, bridge

    Once upon a time, the name Tavira sought to rule the Galaxy. Now, it simply sought to redeem itself. The daughter of Leonia, Cura Tavira had fled her mothers capricious nature when Leonia had signed up with Pellaeon's 'True Empire', betraying her mother's secret connection to the Restored Empire terrorists and taking back honour for her family name. Cura had taken responsibility for the community of officers, pilots and crewers that had been similarly tied up in her mothers world of blackmail and deceit, looking to redeem them. As this gave a young officer in the Navy a subtle bloc of power, one which increased in size as the crew merged with the greater Imperial community, it had also isolated her from progression, until Supreme Leader Snoke rewarded her with the opportunity to redeem the name of the Star Destroyer Imperious, granting her one of the newly minted First Order warships, the Imperious, before offering her the Invidious, currently stationed near Corellia, as an incentive. Snoke cared not for Remnant power plays, shaking up the old guard and elevating many who had been trapped by the glass ceiling imposed by the Moff Council.

    And now, her first action.

    Awarded the honour of piercing the Core Worlds as part of Forward Command, she had positioned her ship near the systems of Salliche Ag, including Ruan and seventeen other agriworlds which were key to the economy of the Galaxy. One Destroyer against nineteen worlds, she had nonetheless dispersed her special forces TIEs to cover several systems and inform her of any untoward movements. When given the signal, she would move on Salliche Ag, giving them the opportunity to sign a treaty or be destroyed. Either way, the other worlds of be corporation would surrender to her after she crushed the capital and its paltry defence force. A dozen cruisers were nothing to a three kilometre long Star Destroyer.

    But, firstly, she had an untoward movement to investigate. A two man special forces TIE had been late in reporting in the Ruan system, and Command had confirmed that encrypted communiques had been received in the Ruan system from systems as far removed as Yavin. Another connection to Ruan had led to the Tingel Arm, but that had cut-off and proven untraceable, though it had been almost simultaneous with a bank transaction that Intelligence was tracking.

    Tavira discarded the extraneous information from her mind. They were about to arrive from their jump, and she needed to focus in-case there were enemies here.

    The bulk of the Imperious decanted from hyperspace -

    - right in front of Corona Squadron.

    Tavira's surprise would mirror that of Rhoen's, Wedge's, and of every other crewer aboard the Mon Cal cruiser Galactic Voyager, save for Cal, who was still unconscious. 'Shields up! Launch what fighters we have!'

    --

    'By the Force' cried out Lysa Dunter, across the squadron open comm. At eighteen years of age, she was barely two years younger than her brevet captain, though there were older among the squadron. As Corona Seven, Lysa was not positioned in the squadron hierarchy particularly above or below, and of eighteen pilots selected to reinforce the Resistance - to lead the strike against Snoke, she reminded herself, knee bouncing in unease against the queasiness in her stomach - she was still being considered an elite.

    More knee bouncing.

    One of the other pilots reacted without orders, spraying every torpedo he had. Lysa thought it was the one who called themselves Kyrell, but behind that helmet Lysa hadn't been able to ascertain the gender or race though a Thane Kyrell had been a member of the original roll call of Corona Squadron at Endor. Maybe another legacy pilot, drawn from a famous family who had fought in the last war against the Empire. As Lysa watched, the dozen or so torpedoes crashed into the hull of the Star Destroyer, pockmarking it's armour with small craters, save for the last torpedo, which impacted upon the sheen of a shield.

    Wedge's voice cut across the channel. 'Go, Corona Squadron, don't worry about us!' TIE's were already streaming out of the Destroyers hangars, mostly TIE/FO's, as opposed to special forces TIEs, and the Destroyer opened fire, a barrage reserved for them, but the majority being hurled at the Galactic Voyager. A pang went through Lysa's heart as she realised that Corona Squadron was all that they had in terms of fighters, and they were leaving.

    A bolt sung up from the Destroyer, and an X-wing vanished from the board, a cry cut out midway through.

    This had all taken exactly two seconds, and Lysa and the other pilots began to duck and weave instinctively. This was not a good start to a mission but it could get much, much, much worse.

    TAG: galactic-vagabond422
    ---
    IC: Kyle Katarn
    Dagobah

    There was a surge of violence ahead of Kyle, and he redoubled his efforts, breezing past a stormtrooper who barely had chance to recognise something had moved. However he had to promptly bring himself to a stop when he all but bumped into Kodo Prine of all Jedi. Surprise and joy filled Kyle, and he would have fallen upon the younger Jedi in a comradely hug had the Kel Dor's head not been dipped in what Kyle recognised as shame. Kyle was caught between asking how Kodo was, celebrating his appearance, and haste nipping at his heels. His tongue momentarily tied, a burst of tension from the part of his heart bag Jan occupied saw Kyle place a hand on Kodo's shoulder. 'We need to go, and talk about it later. Can you keep up with me?'

    Oh I'm sure we can. We managed to run just fine from what we just did, didn't we?

    It was mildly redundant, all the effort of him to conceal his a actions, as Kodo had already had his darkness concealed by the voice. Because the voice wasn't just disembodied, or a construct of his imagination. It was in his pocket.

    And it was a pyramidal shaped.

    TAG: Wanderguard
    ---
    IC: Admiral Dorja
    Aboard the Relentless, the Battle of Eshan

    The fleet in pursuit of the Bounty arrived in system and was in position within seconds, an efficiency that Admiral Dorja had not been used to having to hand since before Endor. Yes the Empire and its remnants had tried to re-establish its training regime, but when the entire Empire was dislocated every year or so it was fairly much impossible. The Galactic Concordance had, save for a few years, not been kind to the Empire even in peace time, and during their few years they had been in breach of the treaty under Thrawn, Palpatine, Daala and Pellaeon the Empire had suffered even more so, with new boundaries drawn up by the Republic and the Empire forced to accept them.

    Dorja ignored these passing thoughts, dwelling on the tactical situation as the fleet opened fire on the Bounty and he called for a sitrep on the Echani sector fleet from his position at the rear of the formation aboard one of the slightly more chewed up warships. Ion fire and ion torpedoes - saved for this engagement, analysts having considered that the resources of the Bounty had been sufficiently drained to allow for its potential capture. Not that the fleet held back turbolasers or proton torpedoes; breaking the Bounty was an acceptable outcome.

    The analysts seemed to have been correct, it appeared, and to Dorja's professional annoyance, as the singsong of explosions and crippling fire saw the massive Star Dreadnought burn at various parts but also, more important, darken across the length of its bow. There were spots of power, as evidenced by occasional twitches in damaged sections, but the ship was listing, and it's return fire had been effectively dispersed across the fleet, Niathal's gunners not having had the opportunity to coordinate their fire.

    Save for the destruction of two vessels in the fleet, he had his victory.

    'Sir?'

    Dorja looked up from the display, focusing upon the Bounty. 'Yes?'

    'The Echani fleet is mobilising.' Dorja gestured to the screen, widening it to the several hundred vessels pouring towards him. The Admiral blanched slightly, but did not show it on his face. Hundreds of patrol craft, more than a dozen Star Destroyers, and that pocket dreadnought.

    'They won't fire on us.'

    'Sir, their planetary defence force took down two of our vessels.'

    'Ah.' Dorja summoned strengths and numbers. It would be more than difficult to win this engagement. He knew that Forward Command had three more Resurgent-class warships in the area, one light minutes out, but the other two would take longer to arrive. 'Contact the Invincible, Accuser and Impenetrable, order them here.'

    'Pull us back, but lay down suppression fire as we tighten up the formation, focusing fire on that flagship. I want half our fighters and all of our troop ships, covered by the Lancer-class frigates, pulling back further and split evenly between our port and starboard flanks. When our forces are engaged...'

    'Have the flanking forces advance on the planet, and launch a full invasion.'

    Dorja knew he wasn't expected to spite the Echani defence force, and definitely not occupy the planet, but at the same time he doubted that Hux would accept losing either. So Dorja would do what he could, with what he had.

    Niathal, for her part, would receive a text based message from the Echani asking her politely to move. Received when it was, with a mostly crippled ship, Niathal could only smile, slightly, too pleased to receive aid after so long. Standing from her command chair, well, pulling herself off it as it was not entirely upright from the last salvo, she spoke to her overworked, overtaxed and exhausted crew, lit only by emerging lighting, of what had survived. 'Put everything we have left into the engines. Help is on the way.'

    On the surface, Treen was becoming increasingly unsettled, and increasingly unable to not think about the data crystal she had concealed on her, snuck to her by her mad crewmember in her tooth. 'Shouldn't we divert forces to secure a retreat, just in-case?'

    Corran shook his head. 'No, we need to go full out. Or we won't have a chance.'

    He stood from the table. 'Senator Clighal was picked up by your forces. She's not conscious, but I request permission to take her, if I may, back with me. If the First Order discovers that Jedi are here, it'll divert more than just a few Star Destroyers to us.'

    'You have your hands full, Vincent.'

    TAG: Kahn_Iceay
    ---
    IC: Crusher
    Aboard the Bellicose, hyperspace

    After several hours familiarising himself with the bridge crew and Captain Aban, an Imperial who had served at Endor and onwards at the forefront of breaching of the Galactic Concordance with the rest of Death Squadron, Crusher was wondering where N'Dul was, but at the same time he was happy to take advantage of being unchaperoned at long last to draw information from the command grid. They had entered hyperspace after Stele's TIE Defender was settled, in-case they needed to liaise with the supply ship back at the marshalling point, but the pilot had opted to spend more time with the double wing of pilots he had inherited rather than play politics.

    Crusher told himself was that the only reason he politicked was due to the increased safety, as the tide of power in a dark side influenced world could slip immediately, but he was also conscious that he was starting to enjoy himself a little too much. He needed to focus on his higher purpose.

    While he could draw up replete information on the invasion, Operation Snokescreen and Forward Command - it had more two hundred and fifty Star Destroyers within it at the end of the day - he could not pry information about Operation Arrowhead from the First Order network, seemingly the crowning achievement of the campaign, and the trigger point for Forward Command. Crusher had expected to be briefed on it by General Hux, but instead he had been sent to the front, which was unhelpful at best.

    When N'Dul made it to the bridge, Crusher was looking at a detailed tactical view of the expanding borders. Focused purely on known space - as information on the territory of the First Order was just as tightly controlled as that on Arrowhead - it showed the original extend of former Imperial Remnant space and the salients reaching at Dubrillion, Garqi, Mygeeto, and now with one striking for Orinda, the capital of the Empire for most of the Galactic Concordance until the Bastion Accords were signed.

    Crusher could see that Bastion and other worlds devastated by the Yuuzhan Vong War had been abandoned by the First Order rather than rebuilt, and there were no plans to keep a strong presence on Orinda either - for the most part, Hux seemed to intend to decant, drop several battalions off, overwhelm the local defences, and move on while the suppression was continuing and leave the occupation to Phasma. It was all about lightning strikes and not allowing them to be bogged down for too long while the New Republic was crippled. Circumspect strikes on the other four fleets - being as the First had been entirely lost at Hosnian Prime - had taken place but the true acquisition of territory was the primary goal. The Forward Command and Snokescreen was simply giving them unparalleled scope to divine their opponents actions and to deploy task forces such as this one to undo them. Not a single coordinated response was apparent in the galactic map, save for harassment strikes by possible Resistance units and furballs at Generis, Eshan and now Ruan.

    In short, the New Republic was resoundingly crippled, and the central government was gone.

    Crusher could only be somber, but he rapidly placed his emotions to neutral in front of N'Dul and his entourage, foremost among them being a winsome chap by the surname Sallacine. Pulling a face beneath his mask, it was not difficult to summon the contempt to conceal anything else within him. 'Thank you for finally joining us, Prefect.' Sallacine released a burst of fear into the Force which Crusher ignored, knowing he had likely offended the darksider and his aide was responding to the anticipated offence. However Sallacine kept his eyes low from Crusher's visage, and at another time he would have been curious as to why.

    The title might be wrong but he wasn't especially concerned. Crusher was, in this guise, a Knight of Ren. The philosophy was fairly crude, but to the point, and Snoke did a lot with the esoteric techniques he taught rather than the wider understanding of the Force.

    'Captain Aban and I have been required to take a longer route to the Yavin system, to avoid the front and proposed front. As you recall from our briefings, the Fleet will be advancing on Dorin after Ord Mantell, so we'll be running through that if we are not careful. As such we are more than a day or two from arriving.'

    Crusher folded his arms over his armoured chest. It was not exactly cumbersome, but it wasn't the normal robes he expected to wear, and even then he would often have shed them in battle, to reveal the cream under tunic, as was traditional garb. 'Regardless, you and I have to decide who will be leading the troops down to the surface and who will be maintaining the orbital command. Stele has taken command of the fighter wings, and though I imagine I could have given him a good run for his credits as a pilot, he does not possess the wider skills set that you and I appear to.'

    Aged Captain Aban cleared his throat with the gentle mental touch of Crusher. 'I have already spent a fair amount of time briefing your Lord with the structure and crew aboard, sir. Was this to be redundant I would have preferred to spend that time elsewhere. Lord N'Dul, I can direct you to the commander of our legion aboard now, if you wish?'

    Crusher said nothing, instead casting his senses out wider, touching upon lighter currents to gauge the scene, which was being watched, directly or indirectly, by the entire bridge crew.

    TAG: Darth Dreadwar
    ---
    IC: Strang
    Corellian Shadowport, Corellian moon

    The Rodian wasn't expecting to be snapped at quite so ferociously, but it was what it was. Running delicate Intelligence operations required you to have communication, and if the Duke hadn't known anything about it... It was going to be a real disaster. He also was very much not expecting to be given a right hook that took him down, and down hard.

    The Duke's ship was all but primed, but obviously there was no approval from Control for him to be allowed to launch; in all likelihood they were in cahoots with the First Order. A quick scan of the sensors, if he deigned to, however, would show the troopers marshalling around a second ship, and the guards that had made such a mess of his landing were getting caught up in one hell of a firefight. A hologram popped up on the holoproj on the cockpit dash, a pint sized man who looked like Praxon, insofar as much as Praxon looked like Han Solo and the man before him was related to Han. 'I didn't think you had died, cousin, the rumours were way too cagey about details. First Order got to me first - didn't have much choice but to cut a deal, I'm afraid.'

    Thrackan Sal-Solo snorted. 'I particularly like the message you had sent by the Resistance saying that they were going to grab you on the pretext of it being an abduction of an actor. Nice try, but I saw through it, and I told the First Order goons who showed me the message it had 'Solo swindle' written all over it. Which is why you get stormies instead of CorSec.'

    The vile man grinned. 'Bet you liked that. The same troopers your son has joined up with coming for you.'

    Meanwhile, Chop was allowing the blue goon and the girl to shuffle him into the formers ship, more interested in getting Major Ematt and his comrade to the ship, for now. He didn't want to leave behind his dead friend, and thankfully he had not had to.

    Once he had them on the ramp he passed them over to Elias as the Stormtroopers broke through the crowd and started running towards them. Towards the back a trio were lugging a heavier blaster cannon up, which could pierce starship hull. Slapping the ramp closed and rushing to the cockpit, he joined the other two and took a seat to the back. 'We need to hurry, and we need to get the Duke to Yavin, really soon, we were cutting this close anyway without delays.'

    'And we need to get Praxon to follow us. I can't see him listening to me, but he's a target now.' A sudden pounding on the hull began, but Chop spoke up. 'It's small arms fire, but they had a cutter with them.'

    And whatever else the First Order had with them, of course.

    --
    Edge of the system, beyond the Kiris shipyards

    Captain Grulk was a hard man, a First Order lifer in command of the invidious, and his Remnant 'command veteran', assigned to his ship to supply true combat experience, was Turr Phennir, who had led a squadron to intercept a connection put together by Command and Intelligence. A fools errand, when they were managing an operation on Shadow as well.

    An operation which, from Grulk's read of events, was going badly, even if the interception of the communique to the Resistance agent had resulted in Han Solo engaging his 'abductors' directly, which was amusing, but the troopers had not arrived in time, in Grulk's opinion, to effect a capture.

    Grulk pressed his gloved hands together. Sal-Solo had delayed the troopers weapons and armour at Customs by a handful of minutes, and that had cost them. It was more beneficial for Sal-Solo for them to chase Solo from the system than for First Order to succeed, and more political wrangling would follow. Strictly speaking Grulk could not strike at Corellia and expect to succeed, but Sal-Solo would not dare strike at the First Order, either, seeking to make Corellia independent and neutral, not on either side.

    Which meant Grulk needed to act.

    'Jump the ship to Shadow, and prepare to launch all squadrons we have to hand when we arrive.'

    And by arrive, he and the Invidious meant they would arrive in a matter of minutes.

    TAG: HanSolo29, NickLitYouAFlame, Ktala
    ---
    IC: Goran
    Yaga Minor, mess

    Dakin took a few dozen blasts in half as many seconds, and it became apparent he was done. Goran noted that he and the nameless Mando had cleared the immediate area, but that would have been a bigger problem and leave them exposed if not for the colossal explosion as the room to the chamber blew in, a ship promptly manoeuvring in. It was as distinctive as a Star Destroyer to a Mandalorian; Slave I. It reoriented and promptly opened its ramp, Goran pulling a face beneath his armour.

    'I hate it when the slave circuit is running. Manda'lor doesn't like me touching the controls, either.' The blasters bent down and started antipersonnel fire, and Goran grabbed his new friends arm. 'Time to go.'

    And then at all but maximum range Goran took a bolt to the chest armour and down he went, wincing as his helmet bounced off his head with angle he hit. 'Don't you have anything bigger to hit them with? Don't hold back on my account,' he shouted, trying to get the wind back and move towards the Slave I. Goran couldn't keep track of the number of troopers ducking beneath parts of the stage, behind makeshift cover, and dotted around the arena there were, with more arriving every moment.

    'I'll ask Fett to compensate you!'

    --

    The man shrugged, tapping a control on his armband as they exited the area and moved into the corridors, holstering his sawn off blaster rifle and gesturing for Atropos to take the lead, not interested in talking any more and not impressed by Nif-Gon, he knew the stuff was a pain to get off.

    With the changeover, they looked like an officer with a bodyguard in tow. The shipyards were ablaze with activity, but it was focused elsewhere, not upon them, right until they reached the point where the ship was safely nuzzled, across one of the less busy access-ways but that didn't stop an officer stepping over to them in the corridor, which was not especially busy but it was exposed and the noise of a blaster would have drawn attention from the busier corridor. As he closed, the man appeared more portly, it became apparent from his rank insignia that it was an actual General. Berrida. He bellowed down the corridor. 'You two! What do you think you are doing this far away from the command hub? You First Order officers are constantly shirking from the action, never seen a real war, all theory and no bite.' He continued rambling as he approached, staff dovetailing around him rushing to their roles. Berrida appeared content to make use of his authority on them, and had no need for input from others.

    More explosions had been sounding out for some time, and the nameless stoic spoke up, glancing at his wristband again. He whispered to Atropos. 'My ship is about to extract them, when Goran gets his shebs off the floor.'

    'I assume you can handle the busy body before I do.'

    @Mitth_Fisto, Tim Battershell
    ---
    IC: Tholme
    Yavin 4, Temple, swearing

    The Temple connection seemed to enable Tholme to feel K'Kruhk, albeit on the wrong planet. Relief parted the scowl upon Tholme's face, in spite of himself, and he smiled. 'Old friend, it has been some time. And several days hiking.' He said drily. 'And you're not even here. How bothersome, but typical'

    However, the Temple on Yavin appeared less pleased by the interference. A noise echoed within the depths of the Temple, and Tholme found his lightsaber in his hand as he turned back. The noise was not just one, no, it was multiple howls. The shadows at the back of the room gave birth to one, then two, three, five... Six of them, dark skinned, jowls dripping spittle, eyes blazing red, demonic hounds baying for their blood.

    Tukata!

    --
    Near Lothal, however, the quick shake caught an eye that had not realised it needed to be watching the Lothal Temple. Lothal had a long history of rebellion against the Empire, and as the sector capital it had to be assigned a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer as part of Operation Forefront, the Inquisitor, it's naming a historic reference to the focus that group had given this world due to the actions of Kanan, Ezra and more besides, a locus of rebellion that had included the former Padawan of Lord Darth Vader.

    It was that reason however that the First Order had deemed it relevant to ensure a Force user was dispatched to the edge of the star system as part of the operation. That man was Jaalib Brandl, the Protectorate having rejoined the resurgent Empire in light of the terrible standing of the New Republic against the Yuuzhan Vong and the collapse of the Galactic Alliance as the Galactic Concordance had been reimposed.

    And so Brandl, cut loose by Command now Hux was committing to the battle at Ord Mantell, decided that he was going to do what had to be done in the least destructive manner. 'There is something in the Force on Lothal. Bring us in.'

    Danger would ripple through the Force, but K'Kruhk would have a vague direction as to it, save for peril that Tholme was in which would hit him via their bond - until a spirit appeared, unmistakably Kanan Jarrus. 'Master K'Kruhk, I did not expect to see you here, and I would have left you to your solace, but the Force is different now, since the awakening.'

    'Time is not on our side, anymore. Everything I fought for, here, and now, is at risk.' An eddy, and a flow, would draw K'Kruhk's attention to a nook within the Temple, and Kanan shrugged. 'There was a prophecy about the here and now, and about other times. Of a Father and a Son, of a choice made differently, of another ending and beginning, but I didn't believe it. I found a Holocron, and I hid it, because it told a terrible future, and as I saw the Galaxy solidify, it's gatekeeper became more impossible.'

    He gestured, and the Holocron revealed itself with a single pulse.

    'It is, and was, the Holocron of Darth Librium.'

    TAG: BobaMatt


    Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
     
  15. Kahn_Iceay

    Kahn_Iceay Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Mar 5, 2006
    IC: Vincent Mikaru
    Saara's Ascent, Eshan Orbit


    “You’re assuming they get through to find out Horn.” Vincent’s words were, for the moment, devoid of anything sort of emotional as he kept his eyes on the display. “I know this tactic…” He pointed at the display, moving between the fleet, that had formed a sort of concave shape between Eshan and the Imperials. “The fleet is focusing here, leaving it’s flank open.”

    He then moved his fingers back to Eshan, and one could see the various dots, the orbital defense stations, shifting around away from the fleet. “The orbital stations are moving back towards the flank. The fleet is intentionally bating the empire into a flank maneuver, so that the orbital defenses can pick off targets. We did this during the Vong war to the Mandalorians.”

    He looked up at his two guests, “If things look like they’re going south, we can evacuate to my ship, and escape but…” He was interrupted as another aid came into the room. “Master Mikaru, we just received word from the Jolder’s Hammer. It and the rest of the fleet that was assigned to the First Order contract are inbound, about a quarter hour away.

    The Hammer would give him two more Vindicators six Frigates, and nearly his entire Corvette force. Turning to the aid he spoke making a few motions with his hands that betrayed his distress at the moment. “Send them the current battle data, and have them drop out and remain on station a few minutes away from the system. When I send the command, have them jump in behind the Imperial fleet, and focus fire on the Interdictor.”

    Callista looked like she was about to speak up but Vincent cut her off. “I know, the fleet can’t stand up to that kind of force, but those two ships in the rear are weakened, the Order will have to either cut their losses, which gives us an advantage, or break ships off to assist them, which gives the defense fleet an advantage. Our ships are faster than the Imperials, we can break off and get away while the Aegis moves in.”

    Callista nodded, but then motioned back to the display. “The Imperials are launching fighters, and our forces are doing the same…” She paused, her eyes seemingly unfocused for a moment, “Getting word that two the three wings we’ve launched have been conscripted by the Spirit as her fighter deployment was not on board. The third has made contact with the Bounty’s flight controller and complementing them. Additionally, our stations defense systems are now coming online.”

    “Link control with planetary defense.” He leaned back over the table, eyes dancing over the display. “We need to work in concert if we’re going to be effective, otherwise we’re just a third party getting in the way.” His hands tensed, he wanted to get out there, to join the fight, but he knew that he had to remain here, and command his forces. But not everybody did…”

    Turning his eyes away from the display he looked back at Horn. “Corran… how rusty are your Starfighter skills?”

    Tag: Sinre
     
  16. UnaidedSpud

    UnaidedSpud Jedi Youngling

    Registered:
    Jan 24, 2016
    IC Tyjah

    He could feel something coming but he was confused. He was sensing danger but he was also sensing a welcoming feeling he'd never felt before. Jumping up his instincts took over and started packing his rations back into his bag and headed for the warehouse entrance.

    Peering past the door into the alley he could see an officer headed his way with his blaster pointed straight at him.

    "Stop there!" Shouted the officer.

    Fastening his bag he started to sprint in the other direction down the alley knocking whatever he could behind him while ducking to avoid incoming blaster shots. Looking up he saw the beggar woman from the square before. Had she followed him too? Without hesitation he ran behind her. He didn't know why but he felt he could trust her which didn't come easily to him.

    Tag: Sinrebirth
     
  17. Tim Battershell

    Tim Battershell Jedi Master star 5

    Registered:
    Sep 3, 2012
    IC: Atropos
    Imperial Shipyards, Yaga Minor

    "Kriff it!"; the dead man thought; "A few steps from the ship and an overweight, interfering, Senior Officer; a General, no less, had to stick his nose in! Probably drunk into the bagain, too, since he apparently misidentified the uniform as First Order. Outrageous!"

    The dead man's 'companion' whispered words to him, but they were made almost inaudible by the sound effects in the background. Someone, or something really going hammer-on-anvil back in the direction of the arena. "Probably the Mandos"; he thought; "Seems like they can't do anything quietly!".

    Of the 'companion', the dead man was starting to wonder how the man could have gotten so scarred up if he was actually a Mando - as his language and attitude strongly suggested. They were, after all, notorious for wearing their trademark armour, including the helmet, virtually all the time - especially the older ones. Beskar'gam - iron skin - they called it . The dead man knew of one Mando that would show such scarring, if the stories about him were true - could it possibly be? Well, there was a way to test the hypothesis...

    "We're on a Mission, General. Highest authority and classified 'Ultra Stygian'. I could tell you what I know about it, but then we'd have to kill you. Orders, Operational Security, you understand! Isn't that right, Senior Operative Vhett?". While speaking the dead man slipped his right hand into the side pocket of the carry case and wrapped it around the butt of his pistol-sized Verpine Shatter Gun variant. A powerful, deadly and, most importantly, absolutely silent weapon.


    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
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  18. galactic-vagabond422

    galactic-vagabond422 Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2009
    IC: Rhoen Aquilla
    Outskirts of the Ruan system

    His hand hovered over the control to send his craft into lightspeed and begin his mission in earnest. Out of nowhere a Resurgence-class Star Destroyer dropped out of hyperspace. The surprise took his breath away, and widened his eyes, so soon, he wasn't prepared for this.

    "By the Force" Corona Six…no Seven cried, Rhoen's sentiments exactly. He opened his mouth to start barking orders as TIEs spilled out from the behemoth of a vessel. His mouth closed as one of his pilots broke off and fired every torpedo they had against the hull. Those that got through the shield impacted harmlessly against the armor. Seeing that, Rhoen knew his fighters couldn't take that monster head on.

    "Go, Corona Squadron," Wedge's voice called out, "don't worry about us!" how could he not worry, his squadron was flying the only fighters the Voyager had, they could at least stick around, take out a few of the TIEs.

    A scream was cut short, Corona Four or, was it Five, in all the confusion the young Captain couldn't recall the name he'd put with the voice. He, along with the rest of the squadron broke up and began evasive maneuvers. One touch from that Star Destroyer and a sunbfighter would be gone, nothing but atoms in endless space. He wanted so desperately to stay to do what he can. Lessen the fighter screen, maybe run inference with the Star Destroyer, buy the Galactic Voyager time to affect an escape.

    But how many pilots would he lose, how much time would he waste fighting a battle he could not win. And even if, by some stroke luck, he was able to defeat this enemy, what of his mission, what of the Resistance, they needed his pilots and their fighters. His heart burned, desperate to stay, desperate to fight. Tears of frustration and anger welled up in his eyes. He had to give this order, there was no other choice, the fate of the galaxy hanged in the balance. Was this how Skywalker felt, running down the trench, letting Biggs die right behind him, just to secure a few seconds of safety.

    "Corona Squadron," he prevented his voice from cracking but, he couldn't stop the pain from seeping into his words. "Make the jump to lightspeed." He set his fighter on a course out of the system, "Force knows I don't want to give this order but, we must leave. Our mission is more important." His heart pained him, how could he say a single mission was more important that a hero of the Republic, a survivor of two Death Stars and countless conflicts, with more kills and experience than Rhoen could ever hope to gain in two life times. "Please Corona Squadron," he could feel his voice was on the edge of breaking, "Please follow me." Just before he made the jump he opened a comm channel with the Voyager, "May the force be with you Sir." He dare not say the name on an open channel. He didn't want to give the First Order any incentive to pursue, if Wedge managed to escape.

    The stars stretched into infinity around him as the tears he held back began to fall.

    Once safely away in hyperspace, he switched off his comm, he didn't want even the chance of any of his squadron hearing. A scream rose from his chest and ripped itself from his throat. A scream of frustration, a shout of anger, a cry of pain. He cursed his rank and cursed his name. If he was just another pilot, just Pilot Officer Rhoen he would have stayed, would have done what he could, his superiors be damned. He wouldn't have left Wedge Antilles at the mercy of the First Order. But, he wasn't any more, he was Captain Aquilla, Corona Leader, with orders to take his squadron and link up with the Resistance to hunt down Supreme Leader Snoke.

    Rhoen questioned if he'd made the right decision, questioned if he'd have enough pilots left when he made the rendezvous, questioned if he was still fit to lead.

    He put his head back letting out a breath he felt he had held forever. As the blue tunnel of hyperspace passed him by, he did his best to harden his resolve. There was no one else to send, no one else who could lead. It all fell on him, the chains of command, the bonds that were strangling his heart, forcing him to make the hard choice he didn't want to make. Rhoen hoped that he'd never have to make that choice again. His heart couldn't go thought that again.

    But, deep inside, part of him knew that it was just the first, of many hard and, painful choices.

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  19. NickLitYouAFlame

    NickLitYouAFlame Jedi Master star 5

    Registered:
    Feb 27, 2007
    Elias Noble
    Shadow, Corellian moon

    As Elias sat down in the Captain’s chair, the pounding on the hull began. It wasn’t dangerous to the ship’s integrity, but as the soldier said, they had something heavier. That dictated a bit of urgency. Elias yelled back at the soldier, “Get on the guns, then! It’s right behind you, down the corridor!”

    Elias quickly ran through the pre-flight check. It was muscle memory at this point, because he was apparently able to do it while stone drunk. Elias ignored the itching that his shoulder wound was causing. He’d have to stitch his arm once they got out of trouble. He turned to the girl, “We’re going to be moving fast. I need you to hail that ship and get them on a line.”

    Elias sighed in relief as the engines sprang to life. He continued, “I have a feeling that these soldiers weren’t just hanging around. There’s something else going on here, which means there are bigger fish in these waters.” Elias pushed the throttle and lifted the Noble One into the air, just as the heavy blaster was planted. He pushed back away from the port, dodging the blaster fire that would have tore into his ship.

    Tag: Ktala, HanSolo29, Sinrebirth
     
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  20. Tensu

    Tensu Jedi Knight

    Registered:
    Aug 30, 2015
    IC: Kam Solusar
    Dantooine Home Stead

    Stepping out of their dwelling, the first thing that struck Kam was the eerie sense of silence. Never had the residential area been so densely populated, yet so quiet. The gaggle of stormtroopers ushered Kam and Tionne into a huddle with their neighbours. As they fell in, Kam spotted a neighbour clutching his arm.

    Tsulo?”

    Kam and Tionne didn't know what to think of the young Rodian. When they had exchanged pleasantries in passing, he had seemed a nice enough boy, although Tionne always got the impression that his default politeness might be an act. The green skinned adolescent presented his limb, revealing a large burn mark, clearly the result of a melee weapon. He explained how he had assumed that his friends were playing a joke on him, and that he tried to take down one of the bucket-heads. Clearly, such behaviour was greeted with a less than welcome reception.

    Lost in conversation, the trio almost overlooked the fact that their fellow villagers had began meandering towards what Kam knew to be the west. Blending in, they followed the crowd. Curiosity got the better of Tsulo. Having already been injured, he figured things couldn't get much worse. Stepping up smartly to a stormtrooper, clutching a tonfa grip stun baton, the Rodian piped up.

    Hey there. Umm, where are we going?”

    Back in line, boy.”

    Although tall, the stormtroopers voice and uncertain body language led Kam to assume that he was no older than Tsulo. He marched over, waving a hand, and asked

    He said... Where are we going?”

    ..The badlands”

    responded the trooper, his voice flat. Kam got the sneaking suspicion that the young buckethead had a vague idea of where they were going, but no specifics about precisely where, or why. Not wanting to draw more attention to his party, he fell back into line and began following the crowd.

    Well then, I guess there's only one way to find out.”

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  21. HanSolo29

    HanSolo29 RPF/SWC/Fan Art Manager & Bill Pullman Connoisseur star 7 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Apr 13, 2001
    Duke Praxon
    Shadow, Corellian Moon

    After securing Wyn in one of the recliner chairs situated behind the pilot's station, Praxon moved around to the main dash and cursed the bizarre turn of events that had placed them in this sticky situation. While he would never admit it, he was beginning to agree with his agent's word of warning about pursuing this particular mission, especially with Corellia being on such unstable ground. But, of course, he had been stubborn and believed himself to be beyond political power plays and any violent acts that would follow simply because of who he was. That was the reason why he couldn't go crawling back to her now and request that she get him out of this mess – to talk to the authorities and secure a safe and discrete departure from the system. The woman could work wonders if he allowed it – his very career was testament to that – but unfortunately, he needed to handle this one on his own…if only to protect his pride.

    Pursing his lips and leaning towards the comm, he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable struggle with port control to grant him his clearances, but before he could plead his case, a hologram sputtered to life on the dash and took the form of a man who looked eerily similar to himself. Praxon initially scowled at the disruption, believing the board to be malfunctioning, until he began to connect the dots and realization dawned. He had attracted the attention of Thrackan Sal-Solo himself. He didn't know the Head of State was a fan…

    'I didn't think you had died, cousin, the rumours were way too cagey about details. First Order got to me first - didn't have much choice but to cut a deal, I'm afraid.'

    "W-what…" he heard himself scoff incredulously as his mouth unhinged. Cousin? Wasn't his cousin…Han Solo? His expression sobered a bit and he swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. He didn't like where this was going. To his credit, Praxon did have a striking resemblance to the Resistance hero, which had ultimately landed him his breakout role all those years ago. He never believed that it would ever place him in such an awkward position, especially after he had put so much effort into separating his true self from the role. Apparently that hadn't been good enough.

    'I particularly like the message you had sent by the Resistance saying that they were going to grab you on the pretext of it being an abduction of an actor. Nice try, but I saw through it, and I told the First Order goons who showed me the message it had 'Solo swindle' written all over it. Which is why you get stormies instead of CorSec.'

    Again, his lips parted as all the puzzle pieces suddenly fell into place through Sal-Solo's revelation. So, the attack – no, the abduction – had been a ruse. To make it work, he had been expected to fall in line with the Resistance to make it appear as if they were kidnapping Han Solo…except, the message had never reached his ears. Instead, it had been intercepted by Sal-Solo, leaving him in the dark and setting up a rather embarrassing and harrowing scene in the plaza.

    And still, the big question in the equation was, why? Why was this all happening? Suddenly, he wished that he hadn't decided to deck that rodian. He could have used some of his insight right about now.

    'Bet you liked that. The same troopers your son has joined up with coming for you.'

    "Wait…wait a second," he began to plea, shaking his head in the negative as if he couldn't believe this was happening. "T-this…this isn't what you think…"

    Praxon stopped himself in mid-rant and he blinked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he digested all of this information. All he wanted to do was to deny his involvement and plead his innocence, explaining to this man that he wasn't who he thought he was, but he had a sinking feeling that anything he would say at this point would fall on deaf ears. Sal-Solo had made up his mind and he was a dead man either way. Plus, he hadn't sounded very convincing so far…even to himself. In fact, it was borderline pathetic. If he had any intentions of leaving, he would need to try another route, even if it meant embracing the role - if momentarily - until he was out of danger. He was an actor, after all, this was his job. He could improvise.

    Clearing his throat, he set his jaw and lifted his gaze to face Sal-Solo. He was still visibly shaken, but he was more together than he was a moment before. "You mention the 'Solo swindle', Thrackan, but are you really sure about that?" He cocked a brow curiously, his hands starting to slowly move back across the controls. "Who's the one really being swindled here? I think you should take a good, long look at that one first…"

    His hand hovered over the control to cut the transmission, but before he did so, he smiled devilishly to make one last impression. "Oh, and surprise! I'm back!"

    With those words, he hit the throttle, no longer caring about acquiring the necessary clearances needed to leave the port. If Sal-Solo was in charge, it would have been a fruitless effort anyway, especially now since Praxon was a target. He only hoped his piloting skills were good enough to make it through to safety. This was where he could use Wyn's assistance.

    Running a hand over his face, he glanced over his shoulder to his assistant, his breathing coming in short gasps. "Come on, Wyn…wake up. I think I just made a big mistake," he admitted with a sudden fear clenching his chest. "I need you…before I go and do something else stupid."

    TAG: @Sinrebrith, @ Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  22. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Belila Gambros (Bre)
    Shadow Moon - Corellia

    Bre ran fast, following Big Blue, Fred right behind her, as they made their way to the pilot's area. As the man sat down, Bre could hear the sound of pounding on the hull. BB yelled to the other guy following to head for the guns. As Bre took a seat next to him, BB turned towards her. “We’re going to be moving fast. I need you to hail that ship and get them on a line.”

    "You got it Big Blue!" she told him. As she moved to get busy on the ships comlink, she looked over at Fred. "You heard the man." she told him, as flicked on a few switches. As she worked, she heard Big Blue speaking once more.
    “I have a feeling that these soldiers weren’t just hanging around. There’s something else going on here, which means there are bigger fish in these waters.”

    "Yeah!" Bre esponded, even as the ship lifted into the air. "It all seemed kinda staged. Like a play gone wrong. Wonder if the guys in white, were working on their own play..." She turned away, as Fred whistled at her.

    Bre turned the mike towards her face, and made a called out to the other ship.

    ["Hey Praxton. Get a move on. You got un-friendlies with very large door guns REALLY interested in you. Also got someone really hot to chat with you with us here. Respond, cause I think we might have some other friends in the area!!"]

    Fred chirped, as he chatted to the other ship.


    TAG: HanSolo29, Sinrebirth, NickLitYouAFlame
     
  23. HanSolo29

    HanSolo29 RPF/SWC/Fan Art Manager & Bill Pullman Connoisseur star 7 Staff Member Manager

    Registered:
    Apr 13, 2001
    Duke Praxon
    Aboard the Easy Spacer,Shadow, Corellian Moon

    Praxon had barely put any distance between his ship and the port when things started to get interesting. With his hands clenching the control yoke in a white-knuckled grip, he was too pre-occupied with worst-case scenarios and berating himself over his own stupidity to notice the flashing indicator on the dash that was designed to alert him to an incoming message. It wasn't until a burst of static crackled over the comm unit, nearly causing him to jump clean out of his seat, that he snapped out of his reverie and began to reassess his situation.

    It was in that moment that he realized a female voice was calling to him. While there was a certain vigor behind the words, particularly when she ordered him to 'get a move-on', it was a safe bet to assume that this did not belong to a member of the First Order or any of their associated parties. She wasn't disciplined enough for that. Plus, the fact that she didn't immediately blast him out of the sky was a promising start.

    But despite her good intentions, she was still a stranger to him, and so, he had reservations about completely turning over his trust.

    "Who isthis?"he demanded, leaning closer to the mic. The words might have come out a little more harsh than he intended, but that could easily be chalked up to the stressful events of the day weighing heavily upon him. "And what friends? I'm not particularly in any kind of mood to talk to them…or anyone else, for that matter, except maybe my agent. I just…" There was a beat as he drew in a deep breath to prevent his voice from cracking. "Dammit, I just want to get out of here, okay?"

    Before he could filter in her response – if she even bothered to send one – a second light on the dash began to flicker for his attention. Praxon found himself being drawn in by its rhythmic red allure, his muscles tensing as he identified the source as the proximity alarm. That was all the time he was allotted to process this information before there was a flash outside the viewport and another ship decanted from hyperspace. His eyes grew wide with surprise as his mind registered the new vessel as a Star Destroyer…and she was sitting directly in his path, cutting off his escape route.

    "Ah, kriff!"

    He instinctively pulled right on the yoke, causing the Easy Spacer to lurch violently under his unsteady hands. "Hey…y-you still there?!" he yelled out desperately to the phantom girl on the other end of the comm. "I-if you're hearing this, I-I could use some help here!"

    TAG: Ktala, NickLitYouAFlame, Sinrebirth
     
  24. Mitth_Fisto

    Mitth_Fisto Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 29, 2005
    Susulur Dha'tra
    Yaga Minor, First Stormtrooper Bash

    As they found themselves without cover Susulur had to admit, when it came to hand to hand combat these shines must of been taught with depowered weapons at random. Which gave a good sense that, pointy end is not always at the end, and blunt force can hurt, it gave them all a bit of a wild and open hazard to their attacks. Something which made it hard not to kill them. They had no sense of over-extending or jab recovery, and when it came to team attacks they were sloppy and overlapping or staying back to watch the fight. Both setting them up to be killed without mercy due to lack of overlapping protection or interference from their own companion.

    Very much unlike himself and Goran. The cleared breathing room problem was soon taken care of as nothing less than the Slave I blew it's way into the chamber and began to open like beautifully deadly siren, ramp and anti personnel opening in all their glories.

    'I hate it when the slave circuit is running. Manda'lor doesn't like me touching the controls, either.' The blasters bent down and started antipersonnel fire, and Goran grabbed his new friends arm. 'Time to go.'
    It was an odd request but he took it as it was intended, comradely.
    And then at all but maximum range Goran took a bolt to the chest armour and down he went, wincing as his helmet bounced off his head with angle he hit. 'Don't you have anything bigger to hit them with? Don't hold back on my account,' he shouted, trying to get the wind back and move towards the Slave I. Goran couldn't keep track of the number of troopers ducking beneath parts of the stage, behind makeshift cover, and dotted around the arena there were, with more arriving every moment.

    'I'll ask Fett to compensate you!'


    He been going to return the gesture of grabbing the man's arm and hauling him out of here. Still, he had said the magic word. Compensate.

    Stepping and putting Goran at his back along with the ship he took a deep breath. Bending he grabbed at his belly and lifted. With a sickening ripping sound his fake gut tore along the 'crease' seam, spilling fake blood and tubing. "I hope you can hold your breath. And Run." he simply stated before taking a deep breath as a smoke screen was created and dispersed like a bomb wave in all directions out from himself. His back to the ship was the only direct line that the gas did not immediately disperse out toward, but the spreading white cloud was slowly spreading. A mild corrosive cloud.

    TAG: Sinrebirth
     
  25. Darth Dreadwar

    Darth Dreadwar Jedi Grand Master star 6

    Registered:
    Jan 26, 2010
    IC: Azgath N'Dul
    Aboard the Bellicose

    The game of dejarik was an interesting game to play. One could never know at what level the opponent was playing. Imbecile or genius, marvel or moron? Was every trap the enemy left bare before N'Dul's perception an invitation begat by the cunning of a deceiver, or the feeble moves of a lesser mind? An answer to any level of play was the windmill, to constantly gain by pressing, ever pressing one's advantage, plying pressure and feeding on fear, to confuse, obfuscate.

    Such also applied to the game of politics.

    Prefect. Perfect. At least Crusher had the sense to address him by proper title. Of course, he would have preferred Lord. He would give Captain Aban credit for that, if it wasn't for the fact the Captain had referred to as Crusher as his Lord!

    Was Captain Aban's calling Crusher - Crusher, the insect! How dare he! - such a ploy, planned in advance in whispers outside of N'Dul's earshot? A mere mistake, a slip of the tongue? Was Aban a victim of some game of Crusher's, who had filled the officer's mind with false perceptions of the power dynamic?

    Fortuitous had been discovering Qel-Droma's holocron, but it had also allowed Crusher to do exactly what Azgath had hoped to stop by reaching the bridge in haste. His encounter with Qel-Droma had cost him time, had ceded him the first move, had allowed the white pieces to begin deploying.

    Azgath quickly had to regain the advantage, if he was not to be relegated to the role of lesser, trailing in Crusher's wake. There was too much at stake with their mission, too much riding on Azgath having power to issue orders and enact his own designs on Yavin, to do anything else. And it would require fear. It would require... a play.

    "The command has already been decided, Knight Crusher," Azgath's voice was almost perfectly steady. Like a string stretched almost perfectly horizontal, despite the massive weight hanging from its middle, by a million tons of tension pulling at either end. "You will remain on the command ship, and I shall lead the mission."

    N'Dul smiled, a pellucid thing that lifted one corner of his lip in an almost sneering gesture. "Ensign," he snapped his fingers, causing Sallacine to rush to his side, swallowing. "Yes, Lord N'Dul?" the young man said.

    "You carry a vibroblade on you for personal defense, do you not, my friend?" Azgath queried, calmly, fixing Captain Aban with a stare that spoke a thousand words.

    "Yes, milord," Sallacine answered, hesitantly.

    Azgath broke eye contact with the Captain, to disarmingly smile, as he turned, in the Ensign's direction. "Withdraw it." The Ensign reached down to his utility belt, pulling a small vibroblade from its sheath. He activated it with a whirring buzz. Sallacine always had been autonomous in that way, predicting his Lord and friend's desires in advance. Such a pity what he must do now.

    Insidious consciousness emanated from the strands of dead nihil smokestone embedded in the Prefect's wet brain, extending with purpose to stroke Sallacine's own. It smiled into Sallacine's mind, caressing, plying a touch here and a touch there, speaking with soft insidiousness as it bent the Ensign's will to his own. "Open yourself from groin to sternum, Ensign," N'Dul whispered, his hand coming to rest on the young man's shoulder. N'Dul twisted, his power overriding the flare of fear and denial that began to spark in Sallacine's weak mind.

    Domination.

    And Sallacine did as he was compelled to do.

    N'Dul did not bother to see the reactions of the bridge crew, as Sallacine howled in self-inflicted, mortal agony, blood pouring out to splatter against the durasteel deck from the vast and deliberate slice. Is that an intestine? My, my, that is an intestine! N'Dul chuckled as the Ensign fell to the floor, the vibroblade falling from twitching fingers to whirr against the deck.

    A beat.

    N'Dul spun away from the gruesome, gurgling scene towards Captain Aban, and screamed, fury in his eyes. "LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!" N'Dul roared. A mockery of wetness appeared in his eyes, his voice quavering. "HE WAS MY FRIEND! MY FRIEND! And you--" a shuddering intake of breath "--and you made me kill him, by calling that INSECT," he screeched, pointing at Crusher with a trembling finger. "MY. KARKING. LORD!"

    N'Dul turned again, driving boot and fist into the Ensign's corpse in a savage act of mad fury. All part of the play. The cold intellect directing N'Dul had no fury. It was empty. Bored. Amused. Role-playing, only. But so devoid of personal moral seeming, of all caring and feeling, that it had no problem with murder merely to reinforce that role. What was the life of one man, even a friend to his latest vessel, against even a negligible increase of probability that he - Dreadwar - would succeed in his design? What was one death against the eternal life and bliss of uncountable quintillions, the utopia he would burn the galaxy to forge?

    N'Dul brought a bloodied fist to his lips to kiss it, his pretense of wrath spent, before turning again, snarling, to advance on Captain Aban.

    "LIE PROSTRATE BEFORE ME AND BEG ME FOR FORGIVENESS! I. AM. IN. COMMAND!"

    TAG: Sinrebirth