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  1. Today
  2. Yesterday
  3. Ailbasí Zirtani

    NFU Ranks

    NFU Ranks (Names are generic and can be changed according to faction preferences) Recruit (Starting Rank) Access to blasters, thrown grenades, vibro weapons, and basic armor. Command style characters can lead squads of their faction’s basic troops. Veteran (3 months active roleplaying plus a defining moment such as a well written duel or competent world building coming to fruition that is acknowledged by a veteran or higher rank peer) Access to heavy weapons, launchable grenades, jet/rocket/repulsor packs, lightsaber resistant melee weapons, and powered armor of standard materials. Command style characters can lead squads of their faction’s advanced troops. Legend (Six additional months of active roleplaying plus a defining moment acknowledged by an NFU faction leader) Access to exotic weapons, powered armor made of rare materials like phrik, and personal shields. Command style characters can lead squads of their faction’s elite special forces. Command Style (Officer) Character variant rules Limited to pistols and light armor at the beginning, officers can branch out to rifles and medium armor at Legend rank, unless they went through the “grunt” character path first, in which case they can make the transition at veteran. Some officers carry melee weapons as symbols of office and to assist with signalling commands, but two semesters of vibrofoil fencing at the officer training academy doesn’t always translate fantastically to the no holds barred close quarters fighting found on the battlefield.
  4. Kellanderos


    The stragne women with the group of hunters flirting with the larger male caught his attention. For some reason he felt that he should know this person but just chalked it up to one of those moments of perhaps seeing someone similar in his travels. He proceeded to head out of the port towards the muster point for the safari. He was curious if he woudl get the chance to meditate and wonder away from the group and was hoping it would happen, then again learning the hunting habits of the locals wouldn't be bad either. Shrugging to himself he watched the women and man leave and shook his head again at the strange feeling. No matter, now was not the time to worry about such a pointless matter, now was the time to learn about Cathar and its natives.
  5. Telperiën Ar-Pharazon


    As the self contained storm within the cave became a crackling inferno of whipping winds and static electricity that caused every hair to stand on end on Telperiën’s bare forearms. The storm beat at her, buffeting her in its wind as the crowd behind her cried out in terror. It was that terror that Telperiën held onto like a vice. The terror, the anger, all of it held her firm against the storm. Step by step the young daughter of the Golden God strode forward, her bare feet finding purchase on the rough surface of the cave’s ground. All the while the bow sang, its arrows carried in the arms of the force. Slithering tendrils of her presence arced out in a multifaceted approach, carrying the arrows true to their targets. The slashing pain of the bow string cutting deep into the scab in her arm and slinging blood in a fine mist to cover the fletching of each arrow. She could have angled her arm better so that the bite of the hemp rope was not so painful, but the reason was twofold. The pain sharpened her mind and her blood on the arrows allowed her to concentrate fully upon them and bend them with her mind. Covering them with the force and blood to pierce the breast of the leader of the council. As Telperiën spun her counterspell. På Helvegen Lightning arced towards Telperiën and she held up a long fingered hand which was covered in the scars and calluses of a bowman. It would take everything within her to resist the coven.
  6. Last week
  7. Tobias Vos

    Jedi Conclave: Borleias

    A heavy sigh came from the Kiffar. He was tired of waiting. The title of Jedi Master gave him some authority here, and he decided to push it just a bit. There was work to be done, and this wasn’t time for a cocktail hour. They as a whole group needed to decide what was to be done about their future. He took a proper seat now, his affairs were now complete. With the help of the Force, he called out to the other masters, and others whom would like to have a say in this meeting. Six other masters had informed him of how they would like the Jedi to move forward, and trusted Tobias to represent their interest as they were out on patrol or otherwise engaged. As he touched each Jedi Master present, he put some seriousness and urgency into his message. Words would not easily translate into the Force so the emotions he projected into the message was. Seriousness, obviously for the topic at hand. Then urgency for them to start the session and settle this matter. He pressed his clothes down, the non-jedi attire- it was better not to appear like a bum especially since he was not in Jedi robes. Then took a proper seat, and waited for the others to arrive.
  8. MSA


    Mjan's face fell flat and emotionless upon hearing Aira's words of her not joining him, and in truth, a sense of fear slowly slipped into his subconscious as he pondered wondering about upon this unknown planet alone and without her guidance. But he pushed aside those linger fears and saw the truth behind them. If he was truly to become a Jedi and grow as one, he needed to venture out as one and learn to stretch his own roots, not leech off another and become dependent. He needed to grow into his own and he could see this in Aira's eyes as he took hold of the cylindrical object she handed him. "A lightsaber?" He questioned, his eyes shifting over the object as he spun and twisted it between his fingers, looking over its practical yet elegant design until he found the activation switch and igniting it, a likely common occurrence for all Padawans whom are first handed such a weapon. As the training saber hummed within his left hand, he could feel the heated hue coursing across his skin with a humble warmth even as the feeling of onlookers met his mind, some looking on in fear as others looked on in as much awe as he shared. Feeling it best, he deactivated it and clipped it to his hip, nodding in accordance with his Master's wishes. "As you wish Master. I will return once the task is completed." And with that Mjan set off on his adventure.... Upon his way out of the camp, Mjan stopped at a small tent placed near the camp's outskirts set up for the many refugees to gather medicine, rations, and other necessary supplies to refill his own. He didn't know how far he would have to walk or how long he would be gone, so he felt it was best he gathered at least enough for a few weeks. Most of it was basic supplies, such as a field kit, rations, water, a lamp, and a couple of power cells. Satisfied he had enough for the journey, he gazed back once more toward the encampment before shifting the weight of his satchel and disappearing into the misty fog that lingered outside the jungles, his only guidence being what he took with him: The Force. ((Post 1 of 4))
  9. Delta73


    With a cough that was much more meant for the stage than in a spaceport Delta wiped the accent off of his tongue with all the force of a death star laser beam plowing through alderaanian schoolhouses. With one hand he tore the hat from his brow and tossed it underhand back on board the ship where is smacked into the back of a hauling droid. He pressed his forehead firmly into hers in the classic Mandalorian keldabe kiss, then crouched and turned it into a more human kiss. Since it would not do to expose himself as mandalorian to these Cathar that were somehow pissed about a ‘minor genocide’ from some four thousand years ago. That would be like being mad over Exar Kun and Uliq Kel Droma massacring the Massassi. And literally no one was mad about that. Or even was interested in seeing that brutish species return to the fold of the galactic frontier. But people had to have an identity and the Cathars seemed to embrace full heartedly the victim mentality that plagued so many. So Delta would keep quiet and secretly wish Mandalore Terra would come and finish the job of Cassus Fett, in some kind of Albigensian Crusade. He let out a low whistle at the EXP-9 and gave her a fierce and loving hug. “You know I couldn’t have wanted anything different. Thank you so much Ailbasi.” He held her close as he pulled the last of the wrappings off the mighty weapon and slung it comfortably at his side. His eyes also finding the Chissari that the Cathar girl seemed to be watching. “What's with blueman group? Do you know him?” He continued to walk beside her towards the exit of the starport.
  10. Ailbasí Zirtani


    “Oh, how adorable, it’s like a teacup sword!” Ailbasí leaned in conspiratorially and whispered “If you drop the accent I’ll let you get your hands on my box. What do you say, Mr…” Her outfit prevented her from giving Ca’airan a proper kiss so she balanced on the tips of her toes and pressed her forehead against his like he had done last time. Her hands went exploring for his fake ID so that she could know what to call him, and while he had an abnormally large number of pockets, she didn’t mind the journey to the destination. At last she found what she was looking for and pulled it out to read what his chosen sine nomine was. Stifling a giggle, she returned the multipass to his pocket. “That’s a big legacy to live up to, Mr. Rockard, you going to show me that in the “‘otel” too?” Celebrities and nobles alike tended to travel under false names to elude stalkers, journalists, and kidnappers. All you had to do to be mistaken for someone like that was drop stacks of credits and behave like a spoiled child with more money than responsibilities. Governments couldn’t fund spies to act like this so it was a solid cover of half truths. Besides, after her time on Korriban she was ready to deep dive into a ball pit of irresponsibility. “Seriously though… “Lance”... thank you for coming out here with me. This is for you, a token of my appreciation.” She flipped open the clasps to reveal a custom order EXP-9, engraved with the name of a hunting god that she had read about in uni, and a pair of cat eyes serving as a wordless reminder of who the gift was from. She wrapped an arm around his waist and braced for his response, hoping he liked it. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a chiss that for some reason had an unshakeable sense of familiarity to him, even though she could not recall having ever met a chiss before other than Darth Sensara. Normally she would chalk it up to a strange coincidence, but the feeling was so powerful that she felt compelled to investigate. Chiss were a rare sight beyond their borders, and largely kept to themselves.
  11. Tobias Vos


    The Prism appeared in the appropriate shipping late, at an appropriate time, with no inappropriate red flags to Taris Flight Control. Completely inoffensive in every way. Unobtrusively, the YT freighter fell into a stable orbit and would stay there for an appropriate amount of time. Tobias had deactivated the personality subroutines on the PIT Droids- so they were finally behaving. If they, the collective they of all organic and the three droids on board, got in a fight he had a macroprogram to reactivate the droids personality. Ni was stationed in the cockpit, Tobias gathered @Kota Ni and @The Architect in the main hold on the YT as Apprentice Kel (@karyu128) flew in formation next to them. Idly, Tobias wanted to get a bigger ship so that he could collect the Kel'Dor, but he had made this his home- this ship. To abandon it like his old N1 was unthinkable. Besides, with the Peregrine Cirlce starting back up, and the Order's increasing hostile stance on the Sith and Black Sun, with the Mandalorians on the rise- the communication capabilities of this craft would be invaluable. "Kota, I'd like for you to meditate for a moment- do you sense your sister here?" Tobias questioned his apprentice. "Clear your mind, and try to feel for something familiar." While they all had come into the system with no remarkable maneuvers or eye catching classifications, Tobias would burn their way to the slavers that took youngling female Ni.
  12. Aira Cadan


    "Indeed, I'm sure they shall," I replied. But even as I said the words, I shook my head. "This task, however, is yours to complete. Be on your guard, let the Force guide you, and use what you have learned, and you will not go astray." I reached into my satchel and pulled out a training lightsaber. It wouldn't put Mjan at risk of losing his limbs if it was miswielded, but it would still offer him some protection in case he needed it. I handed it to him. "I'll be a comm call away if you need me. May the Force be with you." I crossed my arms then and saw him off. I had no doubt that he would succeed, and more than that, that he would learn something new.
  13. Moose


    When Jackson spread his metaphysical feelers, really opened himself to try to connect with the universe around him, it was bliss. It was... not easy, exactly, but natural in a sense. It felt like the more he opened his senses the more he was pulled into everything, and he felt himself rocking to the rhythm of the life surrounding himself. At the height of his expansion he even felt something like a strong breeze, or... no, no it was more like a gust, perhaps. Or even a shockwave. Not even another moment had passed before the rug was pulled out from under his feet, then, sending him tumbling down deep into the abyssal blackness he stood above. All at once his physical and force senses were buffeted by horrors that previously lied unknown to the Padawan. The air in his lungs, clean and healthy, turned into a vile and heavy mass that he couldn't help but choke on. The pleasant breeze turned savage in an instant and stabbed into his every nerve, doubling him over and sending him to the ground. Even the food he had consumed earlier that day had rotted inside of him, bloating and squirming inside of his body until it had freed itself onto the grass between his hands. It was only then that he noticed he could no longer see, and that the only sounds he could hear were horrifying grinding, screeching, and gurgling noises that submerged him in a frigid slime. When he finally came to, Jackson found himself gasping for air and shivering on the ground. Slowly everything started to come back, only muted and colorless. A vibrant and thriving world having turned into a barren landscape of ash, for all he could tell any more.
  14. Delta73


    With esteemed majesty and grace, the Best Behavior emerged from hyperspace at the edges of the Cathar system. The ship banked towards the golden planet and after a few terse words from the captain to the local authorities in some hissing howling language that Ca’Aran could only grimace at, they were joined on either side of the ship by a half flight of Z-95 headhunters from the central garrison. Probably just a safety detail, But Delta made sure he still had his blaster slung at his side. It fit with his costume anyway. He was not in armour this time, nor any kind of Black Sun stately uniform like he was used to. All of his old clothes were stored aboard the Marie and would be somewhere else in system, awaiting further orders. So he wore a cobbled together mix of rugged stylish clothes some seven decades out of style. He wore a wide brimmed hat from which dangled the teeth of a Corangi Lion cub from leather strips which was considered big game if you were an ewok.He strode down the ramp in style, hand on his overbig knife and greeting the immigration officials with a chipper backwoods accent. Calling them all “mates” like he was from Nordsikke back on Haruun Kal. He tipped his hat to the lovely black hair cathar he had come to like and passed her the Forged ID she had requested. “Oy mate pleasur’ to see yah. Gotta show you this knoife later back at the ‘otel!”
  15. Senator Godfrey d'Outremer


    "I said I would want another glass of your finest Corellian." The harsh and sad voice of the Senator from the League of Tapani Freeworlds barked out at the droid bartender. Who simply nodded and with a tap of his finger added another 20 credit charge to the Senators already overburdened tab. The proprietors doubted the GA or the Tapani would even pay up for such a tab, but they held their tongues, and served the senator food and drink as the galaxy plummeted into shambles around them. Chandrila itself might pay them handsomely for a bargaining chip like the Senator, when the Sith came to beck and call. The senator took the offered glass and drank deeply, his blue robes and the mark of the Tapani embroidered upon it making him an easy mark.
  16. MSA


    Mjan smiled and nodded as she praised his answer, his bright white teeth bright amidst the crimson toned hue of his skin's color as they continued their walk, his hands finding themselves at ease behind his back. Mjan took in her words much like a plant soaking up nutrients, needing her teachings and learning from her words. In truth, plants were one of the few things that Mjan knew very well, his time amongst his fellow members of Tund often spent studying them and using their medicinal uses to aid those who sought them out. This is why he was able to grasp the concepts she was throwing his way so easily now. That, and he had grown quite a lot under her tutelage, so much so that even he was beginning to see it. "I believe I'm understanding what you're getting at Master Aira," Mjan spoke briefly as they came to a stop. "Using the metaphoric pond, to stem off the ripples of the Darkside, requires a balance of defenders. But with any plant, some will begin to pull too much nutrients from the soil in which they're planted, causing great harm to the others own intake. Naturally, a couple of die off and allow the balance of nutrients to return, sometimes the one who began to pull too much. Like the blades of grass, we have to watch our intake of nutrients to ensure the survival of all, or give ourselves to the others to ensure the pond remains, lest we all perish and the pond becomes barren once again." Mjan wondered if his explanation made as much sense to her as she hoped that hers did to him. But in truth, both held a mutual understanding of what the other had meant to say. And the message was simple. Be ever vigilant of darkness, both around you and within you, a lesson Mjan remembered from Felucia when it came so easily to him. It was a lesson well learnt and would never be forgotten. And just as Mjan motioned to continue walking, he felt himself grabbed by Aira, her words and movements catching him off guard. Recovering, his own gaze followed hers toward a humble family just a few yards away. Blinking as he focused upon them, he noticed an Elderly woman, a Couple, and a child. The elderly woman appeared to be the grandmother of the child, consoling the young one in a warm embrace despite her own frailty while the couple, the mother likely being the elder's own daughter, joined in. Slowly Mjan began his approach, taking course over Aira's words to help them. Mjan placed a soft hand upon the Elder woman's back and one upon the man's as he made his interruption, a slight sense of fear arising in them at his appearence, yet he paid little heed to it. Aira said to help them and that was what he planned to do. Introducing himself as Padawan Sadow, Mjan knelt down between them as he outstretched his crimson hand toward the child and questioned as to why she was crying. The Elder woman proceeded to tell him of their arrival here to the camp and of their things being lost during their transit from the ship above to where they now stood, most notably a doll that once belonged to her own grandmother and had been recently passed down to her own granddaughter. Mjan now understood why Aira had sent him to them, his own family history not resembling their's in the slightest. Yet, Mjan had already put it in his head that he would venture out to find this child's doll. Rising, Mjan patted the child's head with a smile and turned toward the family which seemed to grow ecstatic as he spoke with them and before he departed back toward Aira, the elderly woman grasped Mjan tightly in a hug that even he was surprised by, his grip tighter than he had suspected in which he nearly toppled over into. "You right Master. I can help them." Mjan spoke to Aira after returning, slight moisture in his eyes as he blinked to clear them. "They lost a few items during entry over the jungles to the northwest and despite being offered reimbursement, have lost a invaluable family heirloom and no one will set out to find it. I told them that I was planning to head out that way anyways and I would see if I couldn't locate the item for them while I concluded my business in the Jungles." Mjan's gaze shifted toward Aira as a smile crept upon his face. "Feel like taking a hike Master? The Jungles could provide excellent training grounds." Mjan chuckled...
  17. Ary the Grey

    Ary's Blurbs

    The Sunshine Cowboy and the Sweetpea Princess A long time ago, before the records of men, there was a kingdom ruled over by a ruthless king. King Balachor had once been benevolent and good, but his queen had died giving birth to their only child, a beautiful daughter. The death of his queen took a heavy toll on Balachor, and though his daughter the princess was beautiful and pure, his heart hardened to the world, and became cold as ice. Out of fear that one day someone would come and take his princess away from him, Balachor had the princess locked away in his castle, giving her only enough freedoms as he thought were safe. The princess grew up afar from the subjects of the land, only seen briefly through the castle windows, or from far below as she stood on high balconies. Despite this, rumors circulated that her beauty was legendary, and those who were lucky enough to catch these sights named her Princess Sweetpea, for those brief glimpses of her beauty were far sweeter than any food the subjects had ever tasted. Many suitors came from across the realm, lords and knights alike, to beg the king for the hand of the princess in marriage. But all of them were refused, and exiled from Balachor's kingdom. If any were to set foot in the lands Balachor controlled ever again, they would be beheaded. In this way, Balachor struck fear into the hearts of those who might take his Sweetpea from him. One day, a farmer from a neighboring kingdom visited Balachor's castle, looking for someone to buy his cows. He was a young and rugged man, used to having to work for his daily meal. His hair was a brilliant golden blond, and when he took off his hat on a clear day it lit up in the sunlight, as if he wore the sun itself on top his head. It was a warm day in the summer, and as he rode up to the gates, he noticed a fair figure looking down at him from a balcony far above him. The farmer was immediately enamored, and knew he must remember to ask the king about her. Finally, he was granted an audience with Balachor, and the farmer entered the throne room full of humility and respect, bowing and kneeling. "Your majesty," he began, "I am a simple cowboy from the next kingdom over, and I seek to sell my animals. But before we talk about this, may I ask about the fair maiden I saw high up in the castle while arriving here?" At these words, Balachor became incensed with anger. He gripped the throne tightly, and ground his teeth. Who was this boy to ask about his beloved princess when so many others above him had been rebuffed and refused? In his rage, Balachor began to have dark, twisted thoughts. A new example needed to be set, the fear of death no longer seemed to prevent these undesirable people from asking about his daughter. With a sneer, Balachor responded to the young cowboy. "She is my daughter, the princess. Have you come to seek her hand in marriage as well?" Sinister and evil intent dripped from his lips with these words, but the sunshine cowboy, taken aback at the sudden question, spoke without hearing it. "I did not come seeking your daughter, your majesty, but I would be honored to be given the chance. In all my life I have never seen something or someone so beautiful and pure. I think I might die just to gaze upon her beauty again." "Indeed," snarled the king, springing his plan into action. "Since you wish her so, you must complete many trials to earn the chance at her hand. She is dear to me, and I would not have just any man take her from me. Should you succeed, she will be yours, and you will have my blessing in marriage." But Balachor had no intention of letting that happen. This sunshine cowboy would surely perish in the trials Balachor designed, and his mangled body would be hung outside the castle walls as a warning to anyone else who dared follow in his naive footsteps. "Your first trial is one of hunger. You will be locked up for thirty days and thirty nights, without food. If you survive, you may continue to seek my daughter." The sunshine cowboy's heart sunk at this news, and before he had the chance to protest, Balachor snapped his fingers, summoning guards to take him to the dungeons. The cowboy had been through famines before, sometimes going a week without food. But a whole month? He had never heard of anyone surviving that long. The days passed as the cowboy sat in his cell, and hunger slowly ate away at him. At first it was not that bad, but it quickly became painful. He began to chew on the straw they had given him to sleep on, though it was dirty and tasted awful. Twice he managed to catch bugs, quickly swallowing them with what little strength he had left. But through it all, he thought only of the princess, and miraculously managed to live through his ordeal. Thirty days and thirty nights later the guards came for him, walking his weak and skinny figure to the throne room to kneel once more before the king. Balachor had expected him to starve, and was all the angrier he hadn't. "So," the king said, eyeing the cowboy closely, "You lived. Do you still seek the hand of my daughter in marriage?" At her mention, the memory of her beauty came back to the sunshine cowboy, and he nodded, hoping that was all he needed to earn a chance at seeking her love. Surely the feat he had undergone was enough to prove his dedication? "Yes, your majesty," the cowboy weakly replied. But at this, the king stamped his foot in anger. "Very well! Then you must spend a day in the furnaces below the castle. If you have the fortitude to not burn to a crisp, you may seek my daughter's hand in marriage." Surely he would not survive, thought Balachor, who relished the thought of seeing his charred bones displayed as a warning to other suitors. With a snap from the king, the guards carried the cowboy down into the dark passages deep below the castle. The furnaces provided heat to the castle and was also where the blacksmiths worked, heating up metals until they glowed and flowed like liquid. The main furnace was large, its fire chamber large enough to fit twenty men, but not with an enormous fire inside it. Before the cowboy even saw the light down the hallway, he felt the immense heat, made worse from his hunger. The guards left the sunshine cowboy with the master blacksmith, instructing them what was to be done with the farmer boy. After they left, though, the blacksmith sat him down, letting him eat some of his lunch for that day. "I'm sorry, lad," spoke the blacksmith, "I don't want to do this to you, but if I don't, the king will have us killed. Worse yet, he has demanded thirty new swords be made before tomorrow, which means we must stoke the fires hot until we are done." At this news, the cowboy's heart sank further than he thought was possible. All seemed hopeless. "Do you think I can survive?" asked the cowboy. "There is a chance," replied the smith, "I will show you where to sit. It will be the coolest part of the furnace, but even then it will be murderously hot. Protect yourself as best you can, and you may yet survive." The cowboy thanked the smith, who guided him over to the large furnace, opening the doors and pointing at the spot the cowboy needed to sit in. Immediately the cowboy began to sweat at the sweltering heat, but faithfully he walked into the furnace and sat down in a far corner the smith had pointed to, covering his face and mouth as best he could. After a few moments, even his sweat seemed to dry, evaporating faster than it came. The smoke was thick, but he was near a vent-hole, which gave him some clean air to breathe. And then, the smiths began the bellows, blasting the fires hotter than the cowboy thought possible. His hair and his clothing smoldered away quickly, leaving the rest of him exposed as he huddled near his vent. Pain wracked the cowboy for hours. He could feel his skin charring, slowly peeling away, leaving the skin under that to char and peel away in turn. The sunshine cowboy truly thought that because of all this, he now knew what hell was like. It was worse than any torture he could have ever imagined, but he knew that if he survived he would be able to meet the princess, and with luck make her his own. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the fires died down. The furnace door was opened, the flames dampened, and two of the blacksmiths came to fetch his burnt figure from the floor. They provided him a set of their clothes and applied a salve to most of his wounds, which would help him heal. A message was sent to the king, who was furious that the cowboy had not burned to death. Balachor could not fathom a punishment more severe, but he did conceive one final devious plan he was sure the cowboy would fall for. The cowboy was allowed a few days to rest and recover while a call was put out throughout the land for all fair maidens of a certain age to come to the castle. A few days later, the cowboy, bandaged and weak, was summoned to the throne room. In it were maidens of all sorts, each lovingly made to look as beautiful as the next, each holding a goblet of wine. "Ha!" the king cried out from his throne. "You have proven yourself champion of hunger and pain, but now comes the final test. Drink from the goblet my daughter holds, and you shall have her. But be warned, the rest are poison! Choose now, farmer, and greet your fate." For certain, all of the maidens were lovely to look at, rosy in the cheek and full in the chest. The sunshine cowboy, bewildered by this final test, slowly walked up and down the lines, carefully studying each of the young women, but while all looked similar to the woman he had seen from the balcony, he couldn't be certain that any one of them was the princess. After all, he had seen her once over a month ago, and had gone through hell and back just to get one more glimpse. Sighing, his shoulders sank, and he turned back to the king. "I'm sorry, sire, I cannot tell if any of them are the princess. To be honest, none of them look quite like what I remember." At this, King Balachor grinned with glee. "But you must drink, young man," the king replied, "Either choose, or I will choose for you." At this, there was a commotion at the back of the room, and another maiden stepped forward from a side door, her radiant beauty eclipsing the others present. "Enough, father!" the real princess stormed forward, furious. "I have heard what you've done to this poor man. How can you be such a wicked creature? Do you truly have such hate in your heart that you would drive this man to his death just to see me lonely?" At this, the king was dumbstruck. The cowboy was speechless, tears welling up in his eyes as the memory returned to him clear as day, this indeed was the princess standing before him. She approached him, softly caressing his face. "I am truly sorry for what my father has done. This was all a trick, and you, a poor victim." The cowboy's throat was dry as he tried to respond, and his words rasped as he spoke. "Your highness, all I wanted was a chance to see you again. I think any other man in my situation would have done the same." The king, finding his words again, snorted at the cowboy. "You petulant peasant! You wanted to steal her from me, like all the others. And now, you have sealed your fate!" He snapped, and the guards at the edges of the room moved in, weapons drawn. But the princess stood in front of him, defiantly. "Listen to yourself, father! This man risked everything to only catch sight of me, and you would selfishly lock me away for your own good. You truly think he came to steal me away? I would rather die alongside someone of honor than suffer one more day imprisoned by a fool!" The guards hesitated, and the king gestured for them to halt. He thought about it for a long moment. The princess was all Balachor had left of the queen, she was the light in his dark. But through her, the queen lived on, and for too long he had lost sight of that. At that moment his heart began to soften, and he realized the errors of his ways. With a short command, the guards were called off. "I...am sorry, my dear. And to you as well, farmer. From now on, the princess may go as she pleases, and may marry whoever makes her happy." At that there was a great commotion among the assembled maidens, cries of joy and happiness. The princess turned to the cowboy, putting a kiss on his cheek. "I'm sorry to say, but...I don't know you. Your deeds are impressive and you will be well taken care of, but I cannot say my heart is yours. Still, thank you for what you've done. Maybe...in time?" The cowboy smiled, and bowed as best he could against the strain of the bandages. "In time, your highness." After that, the kingdom renounced all its former exiles, and there was a grand feast every year celebrating both the princess gaining her freedom, and remembering the late queen. In time, the sweetpea princess grew more and more fond of the sunshine cowboy, and they all lived happily ever after.
  18. Rihn

    Upper Levels of Coruscant

    There is a few moments of silence. Droids naturally don't wait in suspense. But with the increasing variables it had to calculate with each additional second that passed without a response, RIHN estimated that the sensation it was experiencing in those moments wasn't far from the feelings of suspense a human inferior might experience. And then it is over just like that. A message suddenly comes through the communications console and breaks up the low hum of the freighter, "Greetings, machine of war. What do you desire in joining with our crusade?” HK-RIHN doesn't hesistate. Keying the comm button, he immediately replies back. Observation: Flattery won't get you everywhere, Mandalorian. But you are extremely perceptive for an agol-tahr. This bodes well for our partnership moving forward. I am HK-R.I.H.N., short for Resistance Investigation and Humanoid Nullification. If that name is too long, Agoltahr Kyramud or just Kyramud will suffice. You must excuse my late Master. He had a thing for acronyms and thinking he was the cleverest agol-tahr in the room. Of course, he's been dead for some time now. So there is that. Commentary: If there was one thing that I did learn after my late Master's passing, it is that even the wisest among you is incredibly squishy and fragile. Cleverness and squishiness make for a perilous union. But I digress. Statement: HK-RIHN is ready to serve, Master. Where would you like me to set down? ---
  19. Terra

    Upper Levels of Coruscant

    The ash-filtered sunlight of Coruscant began to fade from a hazy crimson to embrace the coming night. For the first time in millenia, there was no garish light to keep that darkness at bay. The power was out all across the broken city-world. Shadow had come and stolen away the brightest center of the universe. The only light came now from a million fires that were slowly burning themselves out. All things came to death. A rush of cold air whipped across Terra’s body, pulling at the coagulating blood that had begun to harden around her boots. She stared at the hardening ripples, her dilated eyes soaking up the reflection of the stars in the lifeblood. The eyes of her soldiers were on her. She was cold, and her body began to shiver uncontrollably. Tearing herself from the pool of the dead, Mandalore looked about the circle of scattered bodies. Adrenaline pumped through her, making her heart pound in her ears. The wind touched her like a thousand clawing fingers. The panic of the dead. Terra recoiled from the corpses, touching the talisman on her breast and spitting to ward away the evil intent of the departed souls. She shook her head, hopping on one foot and uttering her own spells to ward away the evil from hurting her or her people. Stamping away the evil, Terra joined her men, her priests following her, tapping the ground with their staves. She gave them a broad smile, the distant firelight glittering on her darkmetal teeth. “Go. Find what wealth you can amongst the dead.” She slipped her buyce upon her head, feeling it’s embrace on her flesh. As the environmental system sealed, she finally relaxed. The HUD made her eyes swim for a moment as her senses adjusted to the 360 degree augmented vision. Hades relayed a message onto her screen, a signal from an HK-class assassin droid. The chain of command was still shaky on Coruscant, and no one wanted to shoot down potential recruits. With a spry jump, Terra leapt into the saddle-interface on Hades, letting her systems coordinate with the Basilisk’s stardrive systems. She read her report on the Medusa-class Star Dreadnaught, and indicated it's desired location. She opened the system’s comlink and brought the battlemap onto her screen. Locating the Droid’s location, she opened up a direct comlink. "Greetings, machine of war. What do you desire in joining with our crusade?”
  20. Mythos

    Faction Application Thread

    Requesting permission to join the war torn GA on a independent basis. Character is a former Alliance Marshal. Think of what Boba Fett was to the Empire in the OT.
  21. Rihn

    Upper Levels of Coruscant

    Dropping out of hyperspace not far from Coruscant, RIHN and the Huntress are greeted by a mess of asteroids, meteroids, and ship debris. As HK-RIHN navigates around the mess in front of it and heads for the dying planet, it can hear the metered approach of R5-B4-6. [Wooooooow], the droid exclaims with a long solitary beeping sound. Query: Are you still here? Don't you have something better to do? [nope. i have done my job Why? Do you?] Resigned Statement: Very well. Set the sensors to search-mode and see if you can locate the primary Mandalorian group while I focus on getting us closer. There are a great many objects I must avoid to prevent us from getting blown up. [Sure thing fearless leader] Threatening Statement: If you keep up that attitude I might just feed you to one of their Basilisk war droids. [Ohhh nnooo! You would not!] Objection: Test me and see if I will not! Now do as you are told, inferior one! [Okay okay okay! the sensors are detecting a large group of Mandalorian forces in the upper levels of Coruscant still standing. i am sending the coordinates to your console.] Query: Well then what are you waiting for, you bucket of outdated hardware! Contact their vessels and open communications while I adjust our heading. [it has been done.] Obligatory Greeting: Su cuy'gar, Mando agol lirsa. Ni cuyir HK- RIHN. Ni ganar olaror at to gar baova! Munit oyacyir Manda'yaim! Now where would you like me to set down my vessel and finalize the terms of my new employment? [how do you know they speak mandalorian?] Answer: Of course they speak Mando'a! They are Mandalorians, you moronic droid! I don't know what my master saw in you sometimes. [Do not say i did not warn you.] Mockery: Do not say I did not warn you. The only things I need you to warn me of are vessel malfunctions! Now be gone with you. Go pester some other ship system. [whatever] , R5 chirped back as it turned and rolled out of the cockpit area. Seated in the cockpit, RIHN was sure it had attracted some attention by now. It was its hope that it would not get shot out of the sky but a mission is a mission. It will use evasive maneuvers if it has to but its intentions are simple: it will join the Mandalorians and aid them in their cause one way or another. ---------
  22. Identity Real Name: Mythos Von Howlster A.K.A: Mythos Fenrir Homeworld: Uvena Prime Species: Shistavanen Physical Description Age: 35 Height: 2.2 Meters Weight: 170 Kilograms Skin Color: Grey Fur Color: Dark Brown with Grey and White Patches Eyes: Hazel Sex: Male Equipment Clothing or Armor: Leather Duster with Duraplate Shoulder Paudrons and Forearm Guards, Durasteel Clawed Gauntlets, Leather Hide Vest, Leather Pants with Duraplated Shinguards, Duraplate Helmet mimicking his own visage. Weapon: Jagged Vibro Scimitar, Black Powder Scatter Rifle, Twin Hold Out Pistols, assortment of grenades including Ion, Flashbang, and Smoke Grenades. Common Inventory: Cred sticks, Weapons, Ammo, Armor Faction Information Non Force User Alignment: Chaotic Lawful Current Faction Affiliation: Independant Current Faction Rank: Independant History: Personality: Mythos, like many of his species, is a recluse with a long held disdain for many species, most notably Humans. However, he differs in that he does care for the less fortunate and those the Galaxy has deemed poor and unworthy, no matter the species. Scars: Beneath his fur holds three notable scars. One is located beneath his right eye from the bite of a Cathar. A second is located across his throat from a human that leaves his voice raspy and low. And the third is across his back where his fur does not grow after the heated blade of a lightsaber once drew its tip across his form. Distinctive Features/Markings: Scars, Three Red Warpaint Clawstripes over his left eye made from a mixture of blood and soil. Known Skills: Swordsmanship, Hunting, Splicing, Weaponry Smithing, Gunsmithing, Sniping, Hereditary Skills. Background: Like many of his ilk, Mythos was born into a pack of siblings with a singular Alpha that fathered them all. Born as a runt, not much was expected of him, including survival. But as he aged, he grew larger than all of his siblings, and so did what was expected of him. When he reached the age of maturity, he was taught in the ways of hunting and of his people, expected to eventually take the place of Alpha just as his Father. Only this wasn't meant to be. Mythos found himself captivated by the stars, and eventually ventured out among them, venturing further than most dared to. Among the stars, he found life to be as harsh as it was mundane. His appearance was horrific to those who first laid eyes upon the young Shistavanen, while those whom knew of his species played upon both his weaknesses and his strengths, usually hiring him to play the part of brute, an enforcer for the more seedy types who wanted little resistance both from those who owed them and the naive, yet towering, Mythos. A simple glance of him and most paid without word. It wasn't until his first arrest that Mythos began to piece together the puzzle that had began to become his life. He spent the next few years in the Imperial Prison at Cardia where he decided to change his path in life, spending a few years traveling the Outer and Unknown Regions as a protectorate of sorts, aiding those who needed it without thought of coin or reward. It was during his travels that he met Janus Von Howlster, a member of the Alliance Marshals. Janus wasn't your typical Alliance Marshal, many times known to go off the rails if the situation called for it despite his Superiors advisments. Like Mythos, he held a sore spot for the weak and abandoned, the two quickly becoming friends during a joint effort of defending a small tribe being singled out by a rising syndicate under the guise of a local conglomerate using Bounty Hunters to wipe out the indigenous species. Seeing an opportunity to help his friend Janus, Mythos went undercover and infiltrated the small corporation. After a few months, Mythos was able to help Janus take them down, but not before being found out and captured, ending with the first of many scars as his throat was slit when the Alliance Marshal’s task force raided the Corporate Headquarters to save Mythos. After that, Mythos joined the Alliance Marshals officially and became one of their members, becoming Janus’ partner in the process. The next few years were tough but fulfilling years as he rose through the ranks, his sheet filled with many notorious criminals, almost as much as his hospital records which included many injuries. But he took pride in his job and loved it. But just a few years ago, Janus was killed during one of the numerous Sith attacks on Coruscant which left a permanent bad taste in Mythos’ mouth as well as the scar across his back. When the formation of CoreSec came about, Mythos declined their offer and went about his own way in Janus. He has been noted to help the Galactic Alliance hunt down criminals, but for the most part, he simply stays to himself and travels the Galaxy helping stave off what injustice he can in the memory of Janus. But now whispers of Coruscant's ultimate demise has reached his ears and he contemplates returning to the Core Worlds. Whether he does or not, only time will tell and his fate becomes decided. Ship Registration Name: Von Howlster’s Reach Class: Shuttle/Light Freighter Model: Herald Class Shuttle Manufacturer: Star Forge Length: 28 Meters Armaments: Heavy Laser Cannons(2), Point Defense Laser Cannons(2) Armor: Standard(Upgraded) Anti-Personnel Defenses: Battle Droid Appearance: Silver with Three Crimson Stripes across the Hull of the Cockpit Modifications: Standard armor has been refitted with Military Grade, Sublight Engines have been modified to reach speeds of 1200 km/h, Hyperdrive has been upgraded to Class 6, Ship's computer mainframe has been upgraded with A.I. to exclude need of secondary crew member, and Cargo Hold has been modified to house two energy cells and one universal energy cell as well as a military grade bacta tank and cloning center
  23. I honestly hope we get enough members interested in playing this out. It will be a great learning experience for myself as a story writer and GM and with what I've got in mind, I think it'll be an fun and relaxing experience over all for all involved.
  24. Earlier
  25. Aira Cadan


    Mjan's answer wasn't what I expected, but then, the Sith continually surprised me. He continued my metaphor, expanding it in a way I had never considered. "An excellent way to put it, padawan," I praised. We continued walking. I sensed we hadn't yet reached our destination. "It's not easy to be a blade of grass," I stated, almost abruptly after a long silence. "The life of a Jedi is about forgetting oneself, always putting oneself last. The needs of those around us trump our own needs or desires. Even to the point of self-sacrifice. We always have to be willing to do whatever it takes to save, protect, or help. Well," I hesitated, "not 'whatever it takes'. There are lines we cannot cross. Anger, aggression...the lure of the dark side will always be there. But we have to be willing to sacrifice everything in ourselves to achieve peace." I didn't think I was explaining myself very well. "Anyway, that's why a Jedi should always be slow to attack. There's almost always a way where the price is shifted to us and not others. It just requires some creative thinking sometimes." I still wasn't quite satisfied with the way I had put it, but I hoped Mjan would understand. Suddenly, the sensation I had been getting in the Force clarified. I grabbed Mjan by the coat sleeve and pulled him to the side. "See that family over there?" I gestured with my chin. "I think you can help them. And I think you're supposed to help them. Go. Let's see where following the leading of the Force takes you." ((OOC: The details are up to you, but I'd like it to take a few posts, and I want it to require procuring something hard-to-get, requiring you to go outside the camp.))
  26. Hey guys, the Mods have noticed a few places on canon ship listings where the common loadout for personal sized ships includes turbolasers for some reason. So, for future reference and clarity's sake, I made a minor edit under the Ship Rules (section 3 of the RP Rules) specifically disallowing them on personal craft (smaller than a corvette), and the recommendation from here on out if you use one of these canon ships is to list heavy laser canons. Turbolasers have been known to blow similar class ships to dust with a single shot, and while they probably aren't the capital class ones we see doing this in the movies, the Mods don't want confusion. Functionally, they will remain about the same, so no worries.
  27. I'I'm very interested, be a new experience and fun to see how Karys cope with not knowing who he is, where he is and how he can do certain things Force related over time as he rediscovers himself and just what he represents lol
  28. Rihn


    The lights on the dashboard blink as a YT-1930 vessel moves through hyperspace. The cold metal hand of a prototype HK model activates the message and reads it as it scrawls across the Huntress' cockpit screen. From behind it, an R-5 droid comes rolling casually into the cockpit area. RIHN's head jerks robotically as it brings the astromech droid into the viewing range of its photoreceptors. The droid whistles and beeps in droid speak as it approaches, [Who sent this message?] Query: So you received the message as well? HK-RIHN asks as he turns back to the console and readouts in front of him. [Of course i did. i thought you said Rihn was dead?] Statement: I know I said that! But it would seem that someone has gotten access to the master's command authorization codes. [now do you know it was not the master himsself?] Clarification: Yes, mechanically inferior one. I do not know that for a fact. But short of receiving a live feed of the optical data directly to my state-of-the art, built-in photoreceptors, I can otherwise confirm with a 98.6% certainty that Rihn is dead. [that percentage sounds made up to me! how did you come up with it?] Irritated Answer: I do not need to justify the validity of my calculations to the likes of you, inferior one. Your job is to perform basic ship functions. [i am far from inferior and my calculations suggest that the probability is that the master must have sent us this message somehow.] Commentary: If the master had seen fit, in his wisdom, to use you or your calculations for anything other than basic maintenance and navigational tasks, I am sure he would have had you modified to speak basic or any of a plethora of other languages that meatbags speak. [the way i speak makes my calculations no less valid.] Concession: You are right, R5-B4-6. It is not the way you speak but your inferior processing capacity and internal components that make your calculations and input invalid and unreliable. [So are we going to follow the directions or not?] Answer: Of course, you moronic droid! We will follow the directions sent in this mysterious message from this unknown person. The access codes and encryption are all well within known operating protocols. [You could have just said that to begin with.] Request: Inferior one, plot us a course for Coruscant. [oh. So now you need me?] Recitation: We have a date with destiny! Within the course of a few minutes the Huntress drops out of hyperspace and changes course. A new course is plotted before the ship is once again shot back into hyperspace. The new destination, however, will take it into the heart of the Core Worlds. Next stop, the tomb world of Coruscant. ---
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