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Ary the Grey

Chateau D'Adelyn (A Sim Scenario for Jaina)

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High in the northern mountains of the top continent of Nubia sat a rather fortress like estate that belonged to the Adelyn nobility lineage. In ancient times, it had served as a hold for the region, and had many fond memories for most of the Adelyn lineage in their childhood.

 

At least, that had been the case. It also made a nearly perfect spot for a band of interstellar mercenary group to set up headquarters and base their operations out of. The area was perfectly defensible, and in their initial assault they had managed to wipe out everyone so quickly that nobody from what passed for the local law had any time to respond. Now the authorities were aware of the situation, but it was too late to do much about it, and they had other matters to attend to, so the matter was simply left open.

 

However, Rachel Adelyn, the eldest daughter of Lord Clive Adelyn, had just now returned from her time with the Jedi, unable to progress her training any further than her limited skills would allow. Instead of staying with them, Rachel had decided to return to her estate and tend to her family and the Nubian court. Her training and education would have served her well, had the mercenaries not chosen her family to target. Now, she was back, and it was time to reclaim what was hers, though with no weapon and a strong distaste of engaging in combat, she would need to find others and alternate means of securing what was hers by birthright.

 

First post goes to Jaina Jade Skywalker.

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While Nubia's social centers, such as Nuba or Rordis City, boasted temperate climates that meant the rainy season was only mildly uncomfortable, the stark mountain range that ringed the northernmost continent like a crown was as harsh as the people who inhabited it: cold, proud, and noble. A figure of average height and build, covered in the fur stole common among residents of the unforgiving clime, darkened the door of the local tavern in the mountain town below the Chateau d'Adelyn.

 

Settling into a booth in the far corner of the darkened pub across from a burly man sporting a thick beard, the figure laid a gloved hand on the table, pushing a datapad across to the man polishing off his third pint of the evening. With a wary glint in his eye, the man picked up the tablet. If he felt any surprise at what he glimpsed there, he had the good sense not to show it as he threw some credits on the table and followed the fur-laden figure out the door.

 

In the small spaceport of the Old Nubian town, a nondescript shuttle hissed with the hydraulic finale of recent arrival. Glancing beyond him, the muscled man ensured he would not be seen or followed before traipsing up the boarding ramp behind the one who summoned him.

 

Once the ramp hissed to a close, the hood fell back from the metallic face of the figure who had retrieved him, the warbling voice of a protocol droid humming, "This way, sir."

 

Tentative footsteps took him to the cockpit of the shuttle, where a high-backed chair concealed the pilot's identity. With a sudden motion, the pilot's seat swiveled around, revealing the fine-boned features of the heiress apparent to the surrounding lands: Lady Rachel Adelyn. After an unpublicized departure to receive tutelage within the Jedi Order, she knew better than to draw attention to herself in a place such as this: since becoming a haven for unsavory mercenary types, there was no easy way to distinguish friend from foe. Many of the families previously loyal to her father had been threatened, blackmailed, or otherwise coerced into acquiescence. She had no way of knowing where to start building a strike team to drive out the mercenaries.

 

But she knew who did.

 

"Hello, Luca," she said quietly in greeting to the former captain of her father's house guard, who had escaped with his life when the mercenaries had come knocking. "Sorry for the unorthodox method, but I didn't want to raise the alarm."

 

"No problem, my lady," he said with a half-grin and an awkward bow borne of a lack of surety in how to address her. Not quite Jedi, forcibly stripped of her social holdings; the icy-eyed woman before him had lost none of the grace but much of the relaxed nature of her youth. "I'm glad you're back."

 

Folding her hands gently in her white-clad lap, she gestured to the co-pilot's chair, obviously determined to forego the niceties of reacquaintance. "Please, tell me everything."

 

-----

 

Elements of her childhood home had gone untouched, Rachel found a short time later, cloistered in Luca's modest dwelling just outside the grounds of the estate. It seemed the mercenaries lacked skilled hackers, since the computer systems were largely untouched, though they had managed to tap into surveillance and basic security. Her family passwords still worked, however, as she found after using the emergency code that would allow her to access the systems incognito. It was a backdoor defense built into the system in an earlier era when courtier squabbles bled into assassination attempts. But it was a lucky break for her sake that they would be able to keep tabs on the number of mercenaries present and their locations, assuming her maneuvering around the systems remained hidden from her adversaries.

 

It was the first step of many in her preparation.

 

-----

 

Later that day, a message arrived, routed through Nuba City like so much of the other incoming Holonet messages. However, this missive bore an aggressive timbre.

 

Dear Hutt-slime,

 

This is your formal eviction notice.

 

You have one week to comply.

 

...

 

It winked out of existence, leaving only a blinking ellipsis in its wake.

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Jek crushed the datapad in his oversized hand, the genetically enhanced human snarled to the rest of the men present in his office.

 

"Triple the guard. We own this place now, and we're not going to let some ninny two-shoes come and try and scare us out!"

 

Over the next few days, the deployed mercs of the company were recalled, and fortifications were built up around the entire Chateau, making the place ready for a war or a siege, if necessary. Guards roamed every hall regularly, rooms swept and checked every twenty minutes. The warning had only served to stir the beehive, not weaken it. Rachel would certainly have her work cut out for her.

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