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  1. Yesterday
  2. With all the troubles the Helvault began to suffer, the shields were among the ones no one realized went down for a few moments. No one except the pilot of the shuttle that is. Solus nearly fell as the ship jetted into the landing bay, nesting itself into a landing position. “Well everyone…” Solus announced one the ship had landed. “This is where I’ll be making my own way. I will attempt to locate you all once I’ve succeeded in my glorious mission. Just make noise as you see fit. After all, us Sith are good at that…” Without waiting, Solus exited the ship. The landing area was surprisingly not busy. Whether it was because a majority of droids were needed in other areas of the station or trying to handle the glitches that the system was suffering from, Solus had no idea. He had no clue that the station was having so much trouble. “Well, this looks easier than i expecte…” Solus started to say as he broke off a direction separate from the others. As if on clockwork, a turret nearby suddenly opened fire on the small droid. “Yipe!” Solus screeched as he jumped back, narrowly avoiding a flurry of blasterfire. “Not going that way..” Solus muttered as he peaked around the corner. “HALT!” A robotic voice boomed . Solus turned and found himself face-to-face with one of the station’s security droids. Or rather, face-to gun with the droid's left arm blaster rifle. The thing towered over the small droid like a rancor over a reek. “Identify!” The LV8 ordered, pointing an activated blaster rifle into the Shard’s sensors. “Eek! Erm, I mean…” Solus momentarily began to panic, but quickly recomposed himself. “Unit S-0L115, analysis droid.” The security droid said nothing for a moment as it beeped and hummed in thought. “I was not aware an analysis droid was needed in this area. Identify your mission and parameters” Solus adjusted his sensors, as if he was studying the droid. “Are you an out of date security droid? I am here to check on the wellness of the creatures onboard the station. Both sentient and non-sentient. When was your last system update?” “2 days, 5 hours, 23 minutes and 54 seconds ago. Next scheduled update is within 24 hours.” “Well no wonder then!” Solus waved a finger at the droid, easily two times his size. “Your latest system update would’ve included my specifications and codes. But here I am unable to get through any doors thanks to your blasted security system!” “Error” The LV8 noted. “Security system of this unit is completely fine.” Solus gave a grumbling sigh. “Not you, you piece of junk. Those turrets are shooting at me, making it impossible to perform my mission within parameters” The LV8 paused again to think and then stepped around the corner. Due to the security chip it had in its hardware, the turrets never opened fire on the security droid. Even when it itself opened fire and destroyed the turrets with one shot from each arm. Solus jumped slightly from each shot. Whatever he was expecting, he wasn't expecting the security droid to be so...direct. “Threat to analysis droid deactivated” LV8 stated. “You are now able to continue with your mission of analyzing further subjects.” Just as LV8 began to turn away, Solus spoke up again. “Ah ah! Hold on! What if there are more faulty turrets? I need you to guide me to my next location. Uh….” Solus had to stop and think. “Section…45, area b?” The LV8 looked down at the miniscule Solus as if in thought again. Then… “Roger roger. Follow this way” With that, the hulking machine turned and made its way forward. “What do you know…” Solus mused to himself, following the droid closely. “Even without the Force, I’m still better than everyone else...”
  3. “Space-Mom, we can take them from here. Try to get some rest.” Misal smiled broadly at one of her students–the human male who was carrying the impractically-long marksman’s rifle. It was the kind of smile that carried a degree of sleep-deprived lunacy along with mirth. The four armored figures disappeared into the refugee camp, a strange combination of a frightful amount of firepower and four Duros refugees, one of whom was riding on the Togorian’s enormous shoulders. The Miraluka, now satisfied that her previous mission would be completed to satisfaction, returned her attention to the young Jedi Knight. She attempted to shrug away a mixture of stiffness and exhaustion, succeeding in banishing neither. The sides of Misal’s jaw stiffened as she attempted to suppress a yawn. “The outskirts, then. I would prefer not to directly invite the Rebel Alliance into this affair. I trust…” The two hitched a ride on a personnel carrier, wedged uncomfortably between crates of water purification tablets and preserved food. Misal said nothing during their transition to this neglected outpost–her breath slowed and her posture slumped. She had fallen asleep, and was snoring with a faint, nasal whistle. Some combination of trained instinct, or perhaps an admonishment from The Force alerted her to some imminent necessity; a sharp breath and a straightening of her posture indicated her wakefulness as the two approached the outpost that Aequitas had indicated. It was a sad collection of prefabricated permacrete buildings that had clearly been erected many years ago, neglected to overgrowth by the Ylesian jungle, and then hastily cleared in preparation for the battle at Nar Shaddaa. The exterior permacrete walls still bore some stains and cracks from vines that had determinedly climbed up to the roof. A hailstorm had clearly damaged a small sensor array that had previously been used here–rather than repair the obsolete equipment, the Galactic Alliance had seen fit to simply install new sensors and eventually salvage the damaged equipment. Misal took in the little outpost, her face turning towards a crumbling watchtower and the hail-damaged sensor array, and just nodded in satisfaction. The two ventured into one of the larger buildings and sat in a small, reinforced room with opened crates strewn about. A pair of technicians were ripping old wiring out of the walls. The Miraluka sat on the edge of a holoprojector unit and balanced her carbine across her knees. “Mister Aequitas, you may… not want to be present for what I am about to do. No one will come to any harm… or even feel particularly threatened for that matter, but I am certain to trigger a number of security alerts in the next few minutes. My hope is that the Jedi will be quicker to respond than the Rebel Alliance, but we shall see…” Misal unclipped a small, metal disc from her back. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she stared into a concentric ring at its center… a miniature blue hologram sprouted from somewhere within the device. It shifted forms repeatedly–clearly, taking the form of various infographics in some highly idiosyncratic graphics user interface. How exactly the Miraluka was interacting with this disc wasn’t clear, but ripples in The Force suggested that its controls were not purely physical. The image convulsed as though recoiling from a physical threat. More probing followed, accompanied by future convulsions. The hologram eventually turned blank, only for Misal to tap at it and repeat the process. If any members of the Jedi Council were present at Ylesia, they would receive a priority security alert. Someone nearby had stolen a critical intelligence asset from the Jedi Order and was attempting to hack into it–but their repeated attempts were so amateurish and determined that they resembled a farce rather than an actual threat.
  4. Last week
  5. Tilt07

    Ylesia

    The squad were greeted to an individual that went by Quessex, which was good enough for them. They listened to the orders or briefing rather and understood fairly what the task was bound to be. It wasn't the first rodeo with this kind of mission, but Tilt knew this was no longer the Clone Wars. They walked with the agent as they explained away the details of the mission and were introduced to Viceroy Vangar and Commander Raphenel Karlovci Contispex. This... Was going to be interesting. "I have to agree with Raphenal," Tilt opened up, taking his helmet off to reveal his face, "During the Clone Wars "Capture and Secure" missions were some of the things we did including under disguise, that was when everyone on our side and who believed in us were so solid in their beliefs that we had a little leeway to work with. From the reports and past campaigns that I read about the Alliance and Jedi Order, people have faith that is easily shaken. I'm not saying we won't do the mission, but there's the huge risk you're willing to take of people's trust in the Alliance as a whole."
  6. Raphanel could feel his eyebrows raising with each turn the plan was making. Disguises, strike teams, accidental captures, political back and forth, the only thing the plan was missing would be a musical number to give it the classic Holodrama spin. “Commander, I must give a word of advice.” His voice came with its classic high Chandrillian accent. It was a commanding voice that brokered no dispute or interruption. “And to give such advice I must harken back to a recent campaign on Serreno by a departed Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.” The reference to that disastrous little charade which had cost the lives of dozens of informants, Jedi, and even the grandmaster would likely be enough to bring his point home. “The more twists and changes you put into your plan, gives a thousand more opportunities for it to fail. We need not ask the Umbaris permission or give them any opportunity to deny. We bring a strike team and take the ship. It is being built for the enemy and they will have no recourse. Nor should we allow them to save face. We are the lawful government of the Galaxy. And they can submit or face the consequences.” He gave the group a look. “And us getting caught impersonating Sith would shake anyone's perception of the validity of our government. It must not be done.”
  7. NPC squad Name: Lor Qogoth Race: Kaleesh Role: Bodyguard/Spouse Equipment: Electrostaff, Two Lig Swords, Personal Shield Generator, 2 smoke grenades, 2 frag grenades, 2 ion grenades Personality: Helpful, Blunt, Cruel Name: Bolda Qogoth Race: Kaleesh Role: Sniper/Spouse Equipment: Modified Verpine Shatter Rifle, Blaster Pistol, Lig Sword Personality: Appreciative, Opportunistic, abrupt Name: Pulg Mechus Race: Kaleesh Role: Rifleman//Marksman for Sniper Equipment: Outland Rifle w/bayonet , Lig sword, 2 frag grenades, 2 smoke grenades, binoculars, Personality: Bored, Outgoing, Superstitious Name: Jhen Sul Race: Kaleesh Role: Pilot/Rifleman Equipment: Outland Rifle w/bayonet, 2 frag grenades, 2 smoke grenades, Extra ammo, Personality: Competitive, self-indulgent, Name: Sgt Wren Khar Race: Human Role: Medic/Rifleman Technically 2nd in command Equipment: Personal Shield Generator, Blaster Rifle, Bacta Patches, Vibroknife, Blaster Pistol. Personality: Straight-forward but quiet. Name: Secretary Race: R8-series astromech droid Role: Secretary/Mechanic Equipment: R8 built-in equipment Personality: Loyal, fanatically organized
  8. Talyn noted the unusual squad of clones who stood waiting, no doubt for Qessax. As Slaughter passed him a rather shiny looking, steely stylus, the agent quickly began to note down the information the Admiral required. He made a point to personally point out where to find the sympathisers held prisoner and the local defences as specified by the admiral. He also jotted down anything else that might be of interest such as the known settlements and eventually created a list with names, placing a image of a face next to the correct name, along with places of residence and work. Each was marked according to current rank and level of threat priority they might pose. He produced a second list for the Alliance sympathisers which held similar information before handing back the stylus. "That about covers it. I'll leave it to you to decide who we go after first based on that list."
  9. “Oof, mind the rebar–I’m snagging… there.” With some difficulty, Sophia managed to haul herself up the climbing cord and into the tunnel. Her eyes darting from within the helmet, she squinted determinedly and saw precisely… nothing but inky blackness. Inky blackness, and a few tiny amber lights that were built into the walls of the maglev tunnel. Her armor’s rangefinder warned her that this tunnel stretched some hundreds of meters into the distance, but that was an infrared laser-based system that provided nothing in the way of visible data to her. She had brought a spot-luma in anticipation of this possibility, but this darkness was so opaque that it might as well have been a physical barrier. The sound of velcro ripping filled the silence as the historian padded through multiple pouches, eventually thumbing the device to life to bathe the five in a sphere of white light so intense that it almost appeared blue. The white of the scout armor appeared almost incandescent, and the orange of Sophia’s turned an inky brown under that light. She waved the spot-luma over her shoulders as the scouts and their pilots trudged through the darkness, her eyes searching for reflections and movement. Gratefully, there was no sign of movement besides the shadows of the five armored figures. Drips of some kind of solvent–maybe coolant, maybe ordinary water–rapped down on their helmets as beads of light. Sophia glanced at her shoulder as the beads dripped down–absolutely no absorption into the oily cloth, so it was probably water-based. Sophia paused and studied a glimmer on the left wall. It was a sheet of light that kept reflecting back on her… windows, she decided. An office? Maintenance station? Some kind of place where sapient beings would have had access to, which meant a possible source of power, or maybe even computers or a SCOMP link that her datapad could interface with. “Sergeant,” she indicated the windows with a wrist-flick of the spot-luma. She approached and fumbled blindly, her fingers finding the seam of a closed doorway. No door-knob, no handle–impossible to open this door without explosives or a cutting torch or some hydraulic override… but no matter. Sophia just unholstered her blaster pistol in a reverse grip, and smashed the metal butt against the window. As it happened, the window was not transparisteel–it was just cheap, glassy plastic, and came apart in twenty sharp shards and a cacophony of crashing. Climbing over the wreckage, Sophia searched the room just beyond. It was as generic and depressing as an underground maintenance office could be expected to be–it was a small room with a few desks, a number of computers that were just as dark as the tunnel just outside, and a SCOMP link that was equally dead to all attempts to interface with it. Papers were scattered over one of the desks: probably technical blueprints or even segments of a map. A mug containing a cold, bitter liquid lay abandoned next to one of those desks, holding sentry next to a bobblehead of a Mon Calamari with a cartoonishly large head. A metal cabinet with helpful warning labels lay open on another one of the walls–probably circuit breakers or something to do with electrical currents. Sophia ventured further into one of the unfinished corridors just to the side of that office, where the floor changed from dull, scuffed linoleum to matte concrete. Pipes and conduits lined both walls of this corridor. She studied the warning labels, then removed her helmet to place an ear against one of the pipes. “I hear a current.” Her hand found the handle of a spigot and twisted–her greaves were soaked in a cold and clear liquid in an instant until Sophia cupped an armored hand under the current. No doubt to the horror of the scout troopers, she took a test sip and immediately spat it out in a spasm of coughing. “I’m okay, I’m okay. It’s water, definitely water. Just metallic as frack, that’s all. Tastes like I’m drinking a pencil.” She grimaced and wiped a tear from her right eye. “It might actually be potable, though. Just who were you expecting to find down here, anyway?”
  10. Qessax listened to the two talk for a bit and nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a squad of clones. Glancing at the time, Qessaxx almost cursed out loud, realizing he was running late for another meeting. He glanced at his astromech and nodded, indicating it to get ready. The droid beeped once and turned away, sorting through its datapads. “Gentlemen, I leave this mission in your capable hands. All the necessary information you have either before you or with each other.” Qessax gave a quick salute to the Admiral and turned and went towards the clones, his own droid at his side. “Captain Tilt” Qessax declared as he came close. “Agent Qessax. You and your men please come with me. I’m running late enough as it is” Qessax held out a hand, only to retrieve a datapad from the following astromech. “Captain Tilt…” Qessax started as he tried to read and walk at the same time. “My records indicate you and your men have something of a specialty in infiltration and sabotage?” Qessax wrinkled his nose slightly, as he read the records over again. These clones were from the clone wars. They were old, but through some cryo mumbo-jumbo, they were still alive. He half-wondered if they would hold his Kaleesh heritage against him. “The assignment I have for you is going to require these skills, and your ship…” Qessax scrolled a bit. “...The Mantis will be helpful as well.” As the group walked, they could see @Vangar and @Raphanel ahead. “Viceroy, Commander…” Qessax nodded to each then gestured to the clones. “The 130th legion. Captain Tilt, Viceroy Vangar and Commander…” Qessax glanced at his datapad again “...Raphenel Karlovci Contispex” Being done with the quick introductions, Qessax snapped his fingers. The little astromech beeped and whistled in reply. Repositioning itself, it projected a hologram image of a massive starship in front of the group. “This Lucrehulk-Class Battleship was found in Umbaran space recently. As a relic from the Clone wars, this ship was inoperable, but following the Sith loss at Nar Shaddaa, the Umbaran local government has dedicated itself to bringing it back online. However, it seems they are not wanting to share this ship with the Sith nor us, as they have denied all knowledge of its existence, and blacked out any information on it except in the highest circles of government.” “I want to use this opportunity against the Sith while simultaneously securing a new capital ship for the Alliance.” Qessax continued. “My intelligence reports that the ship will be operable soon. This will be a prime opportunity to send in a task force to hijack the ship disguised as Sith troops. Captain Tilt and his squad’s armor can easily be disguised to look like the fabled and possibly dead Delta-73. Lord Commander Raphanel can be disguised as a Sith commander. I have secured the help of several Kaleesh warriors to join me and our Viceroy, disguised to look like hired pirates.” “With this task force, we will sneak onto the battleship as it becomes operable, and take control. We will drive off the Umbarans back to their homeworld, then fly the ship towards Kaleesh, where Imperial forces will happen to ‘capture’ the ship and claim it in the name of the Alliance. With the Umbarans denying knowledge of the ship, they will have no claim to it, and with Umbaran survivors claiming Sith Forces attacking, combined with the public intelligence report we will share with the local government, the Umbarans will hopefully separate themselves from the Sith completely.” Qessax stopped and looked at the others. Like the seasoned Warhunter he was, he knew the importance of letting the soldiers speak up. “Any questions before I continue?
  11. Vangar

    Ylesia

    Vangar gingerly set his cup back on the table as the Knight spoke of strength and freedom. He nodded, noting the air of resentment and disgust at the mention of the Jedi, filing that away for query later. As the Master finished, Vangar casually picked up a spoon and stirred what remained of his caf. Silence filled the void between him as he pondered the man’s views on slavery and democracy. “A society built upon the backs of the weak cannot hope to stand. Your Order must stand against the shadows of evil. I expect nothing less from each of you. Do not waiver in your commitments. As for the other thing, each world, each culture will live by it’s own code and creed and system of governance. So long as they live in the light and do not grow in shadow, they shall be free to govern their own destinies.” He pulled the spoon from his cup and sat it on the table with a clink. “The Alliance however,” he paused before adding, “and the Imperium,” ”are under my leadership, for the time being. And for that time, every voice will be heard, opinion considered, but the final decision shall be resigned to the leadership of the council. Their counsel will be heard, discussed, and debated and then I will make the choice on which path the galaxy will follow. That burden will be mine alone to bear.” The room was beginning to fill, the earliest ranks of militants and cannot-sleep-due-to-the-nightmares-of-reality refugees seeking solace in the familiarity of what the industrial machine of the combined Alliance could offer; a ground out spread of the same prefabricated meals day in and day out. It was always the same. Banthaloaf on Taungsday and biscuits and gravy every Benduday morning. Slowly Vangar began to slide himself out from the bench and table. It was a delicate process to avoid upsetting the entire construct. Once he was free he offered Raphanel a smile. “The best minds in the galaxy brought together to be heard, but not mired in the bureaucracy of the history of the Republic or persecuted for daring to speak, sent to the mines of some forsaken world to never be heard from again.” Extending an immense scar-covered clawed hand to @Raphanel “If you are willing and your duties permit, the Alliance is undertaking an operation that I believe would benefit from your abilities and our beliefs.” The Barabel gestured to the door as he picked up his cup and spoon to deposit it in a receptacle. Outside, he began to walk away from the morning bustle towards a quieter area of camp. “@Qessax Jal Todda Should meet us here momentarily with greater detail. This should be kept quiet.” ”For the good of the Alliance.”
  12. “I need more,” Slaughter nodded gravely. The concern was etched in the lines of his face as vividly as the fresh scars around his left eye. “You two know as well as I do that our fleet sustained severe losses at Nar Shaddaa. That necessarily alters our strategy. We can’t afford a massed assault or planetary bombardment against any target, least of all one as strongly defended as Korriban. Slaughter held out a small holoprojector. Tapping it to life, from it shone a map of the Valley of the Dark Lords and the badlands surrounding the Dreshdae. Significant elevation changes were marked in crisp lines–with some regions as a hazy blur, and one notable sector that was almost completely flat. That was a region that hadn’t been penetrated by seismic pulses and had been mapped only by orbital sensor sweeps. “I can devote significant starfighter assets to this attack. Fortunately, a recon op with the Jedi supplied us with excellent topographical data. Starfighter Command has argued that Trench Run Disease–I, uh, I mean low-altitude bombing runs–isn’t merely possible, but the best approach. I’m inclined to believe them. What they need is composition and approximate positions of local defenses: ground-based anti-orbitals, point defense, local starfighter garrisons, army barracks, the like.” He tossed a steely stylus towards Talyn Orin so he could begin marking approximate locations. “I have to emphasize, surprise is critical for a successful first run. “The second issue is these local leaders. The current Sith government needs to be decapitated. Don’t particularly care whether they’re captured alive, or…” His voice trailed off, making it perfectly clear what followed or. “We need names, faces, places of residence and work. Same for the Alliance sympathizers. We will need to smash local resistance and their government in a matter of hours.”
  13. “We had objectives, we had plans, we had dreams. With or without the empress we will pursue them. For our oath is still valid even without a crown, we serve the new government, and see that it fulfills the dream of the Empress.” He leaned forward slightly, placing his elbows upon the table’s top. “If the government strays from the vision, and from our oath, we will destroy it. For we will follow no false master and suffer no darkness to be seen. If you want to purge the government of corrupt bureaucrats who siphon funds from orphans into their pockets, we will do it most gladly. But for now we will rebuild our order alongside the government and the old jedi order.” He tried to keep the disdain he held in his mind for the jedi out of his voice, but it still bled in. There were any number of synonyms that fit in his mind to replace the disdainful ‘old.’ Dying? Irrelevant? Failed? But they did not matter, the grudges needed to be healed for order and justice to thrive in the galaxy. At the thought he let another smile cross his lips, a quick one, with some degree of edge to it. “And as long as you do not mind us destroying the institution of slavery wherever we go I am sure we will complement each other quite well dear Moff. And if I can ask you one thing." He leaned across the table. His bright and sharp blue eyes looking earnestly into the Barabel's. "Do not let the weakness of democracy stain the government thousands of us and millions of imperial citizens have died to achieve." He did not need to add in that had it not been for the weakness of the senate and republican democracy, then none of them would have needed to die at all. The truth was in his words already.
  14. As credits were collected and handed out, the small crew went about their merry way, a couple in sing song as they left. Captain Greensnout, along with Bomba Jinx and the Quarren Sideon, turned their attentions to the Black Castle and the trek began. It had been months since their last time at Black Castle. Kleef, having been given a ceremonious Rank within the Black Sun as Operative stood as more a formality than actual status due to the Black Sun's dealings with the Children of the Maw. Raids and Piracy had always been a silent backbone upon which the two organizations had long forged a mutually beneficial repor upon. But in recent months, with the Sith having dominated the Galaxy at large, profits had only been a margin of what the once were. It was time to turn the formality into a living reality. With the recent collapse of the Sith Empire at Nar Shadaa, along with the smuggler's moon eradication, territories had became voids both in leadership and claims. Many dared not travel, and those that did, relied heavily upon the Alliance for escort. And the refugees of war offered little spoils and the gambit of facing the Alliance left hands lacking. There was opportunity to be had, but the underworld had to be a united front in order to prosper. Turning his gaze upon the massive Black Castle before him, Greensnout furrowed his brow and shook his haillu. "Sideon, announce our arrival." Kleef spoke, his hand placed firmly upon the hilt of his cutless, his gaze shifting from the Quarren to Bomba Jinx. "Jinx, I'll do the talking." Sideon respectively nodded toward his Captain whilst Bomba simply showed his disdain. Neither Kleef nor Bomba truly cared for each other, nor themselves for that matter, both of them Gungs. The only true thing that carried weight between the two and held their mutual respect for one another laid solely upon their histories and dislikes for their own ilk. Still, despite their dislike for one another, both trusted the other to be entirely what they were and a symbiosis of kinship laid hidden beneath the disdain. They trusted each other with their lives, as did all of the crew, but even deeper because of their relationship. Pulling forth the holo transmitter, Sideon opened up a comm. Filtered and encrypted through numerous channels, the comm would finally arrive to the personal holo of Lady Zalis. It would be of Sideon, the Quarren's politeness hidden by his rough exterior until he spoke. "Lady Zalis, it is good to see you again. You're looking raviously as usual." For a human, Sideon thought to himself in silence as he progressed. "Captain Greensnout, Commander Jinx, and I have returned from our voyage and are requesting a personal meeting with you, mi'lady, to discuss current events and the prosperity it provides. Would you have a moment to avail us with?"
  15. Vangar

    Nubia

    The door alert system jingled softly alerting the front desk staff of their arrival. It was a call back to days of yore. In fact it was almost all but impossible for the human ear to differentiate the sound from an actual bell. The pristine lobby of the towering Spider Co building had an actual crackling fire framed by a rich stone and polished wooden mantle along one wall; a welcome glow of warmth against the wintery air that blustered outside. Front and center a smooth warm orange wood desk stood, behind it stood two receptionists, a bellhop, and a trio of other building employees each adorned in crisp white uniforms that looked like they would be more at home at a black tie event than here. It all contributed to an aura of grandeur and an air of warmth that extended well beyond the crackling flames and filled the whole of the ornate lobby with welcome. Stepping in out of the cold, the well dressed Rodian slipped his smooth synthskin learher gloves from his hands, “Tell you what, there are way too many places in this galaxy that are much colder than there ought to be.” He rubbed his blue-green hands together as a spark of joy crossed his eyes as he spotted the fire and extended his hands towards it, beckoning the warmth into his frigid digits. His compatriot, and truth be told bodyguard, a rather thick yellow-gold Yuzzem grunted a chuckle as he tapped the sealed cylinder tuckedbeneath the crook of his arm. The Rodian plopped down rather unceremoniously in an enveloping high-backed chair that faced the fire, his hands extended outwards. “I know. I know. We still have,” he looked at his wristwatch, “17 minutes. It would be rude to arrive this early.” He responded to an inquisitive growl from his companion. Having seen their arrival, a yellow-skinned twi’lek tailed by a pair of young human men, no more than 22 standard years apiece, swept towards them. “Good day gentlemen. Welcome to the Spider Co Building. Might I enquire as to your destination?” She asked cheerily. The Rodian and Yuzzem exchanged a glance before the lizard-like being buzzed, “We have an appointment on, uhhh,” he pulled a scrunched piece of paper from his pocket, “the 87th floor. I thought I would warm up first. Not everyone has a thick fur coat like my friend here.” A knowing look passed across the faces of all three employees, “Ah yes , Nubia Star Drives Incorporated. When you are ready to go up, please alert the front desk and we will have someone escort you. In the meantime, can we offer you a spot of Nubian Brandy to ward off the chill of our winter months?” You see, the Spider Co Building was one of the more posh business buildings in Nuba City, situated on pristine real estate a short underground shuttle trip from the capital and the halls of democracy that governed the planet. Home to a variety of offices representing businesses across the galaxy, merely having an office within was a sign of financial success. To command the top floor, well that just spoke of a richness that oozed from every pore. It was that floor that was entirely commanded by the small shipbuilding company known as Nubia Star Drives Inc. They had made a name for themselves designing some of the best and most exclusive craft the galaxy had ever known. Each was a work of art and worked flawlessly. A single freighter made by NSDInc was even able to withstand an entire blockade it was rumored. ”I think we will be alright.” The Rodian smiled as he caught a whiff of the brandy that was offered. He would have happily accepted, but they were there on business, more than business in fact. They were there under orders. The musclebound Yuzzem smiled politely and waived a hand to decline. ”Very well,” the receptionist smiled with a slight bow as she slipped the offered glasses to the boy behind her. “If there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, please do not hesitate to ask.” Ten minutes later found the pair riding an equally ornate and spacious lift upwards through the building towards the 87th floor. It was smooth and gradual enough, one could hardly tell they were moving at all. “Nothing like the lift tubes on the Rebel starship,” the Rodian would say later while describing their visit. At the 87th floor, the doors opened with a pneumatic hiss. The corporate office of Nubia Star Drives was, well, not what either of them had expected. Not that they really knew what to expect, but still. A counter seemed to run the length of the room; a room that seemed significantly smaller than it should have been. The only telltale sign that alluded to the business of the place they were in was a single large framed shot of a squadron of N-1 Star fighters emblazoned with the Naboo Security Corps logo image on the wall. Behind it sat a solitary man with salt and peppered hair and a mustache that probably would have been more at home atop the lip of an old world battlefield general. As he looked up over his rimmed spectacles, the bellhop stepped back into the elevator, “Your 3:75 appointment.” He spoke before the doors closed silently. ”Ah yes,” the man beckoned the Rodian and Yuzzem forward as he consulted his ledger. There was not a computer in sight. In fact, as the two stepped up, their own electronics chirped and immediately shut down. Had they not been warned about this particular security measure it would have been alarming. As it were, they had been warned and nobody with prosthetics were selected to attend this meeting. “Yes, Let’s see here, Mister, ahh, Freedom was it?” The man’s finger landed on the appointment looking from it to the two before him clearly aware that the pseudonym was just that. “I see you have an appointment with one of our shipwrights, “Mister, ahh, Jones,” he smiled shooting the pseudonym right back at them, “will be with you momentarily.” The man gestured to a pair of leather chairs along a far wall of the mostly empty room. The two had barely sat down when a door at the other end of the small reception room opened with a hiss.“Mister Freedom, welcome,” grinned a young woman, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. “I have been looking forward to out meeting. I am,” she paused to glanfe at the ledger the elder receptionist was offering, “Mister Jones.” The smile fell from her face st the ludicrousness of such a moniker. It was only for a moment though, as she turned back towards her guests her smile lit her entire face, “Please come with me.” She turned and led them down a rather bland but rich warm green-tinged hallway past several closed doors until they reached one like the dozen others they had passed. There were no names, no numbers, nothing to differentiate any one from another. “Welcome to my office.” She said as she opened the door. “I hardly am ever here. Please pardon the lack of, well,” she gestured them into the room. A single desk with a computer monitor sat in one corner. A pair of folding chairs sat opposite. In the middle of the room a holographic display table sat unused. The entire room seemed devoid of any personal knick-knacks or additions whatsoever. Stepping into the room, the Yuzzem handed the long cylindrical container to the Rodian as he took up a post beside the door. They had made it this far without any issue. That business on Cato Nemodia did not count. What sort of customs officers thought that cake mix was Spice anyway? “Thanks Grimm,” the Rodian buzzed as he stepped to the side as the woman stepped in after, pulling the door shut behind her. ‘Mister Jones’ did not go towards her desk, instead she took up a place standing opposite the pair across the powered down holotable. “Now, what can Nubia Star Drives do for you fine men today?” She asked warmly. Carefully, the Rodian unstoppered the end of the cylinder and gingery poured out the scrolled documents within. “We represent the Galactic Alliance. As you know, turmoil seems to have engulfed the galaxy of late and we have need for a good many ships.” The look on Jones’ face was obvious as she was preparing to interject that her company dod not work for the Alliance, just like it had not worked for the Sith. She did not get to or beed to though as the representative continued. “Now we are not asking for a fleet. We are not asking that you become the sole provider of starships for the Alliance. We are here with a business proposition,” he began to unroll the first of many papers that had fallen to the table, “a contract for one single fleet element and all that accompanies it.” Jones cocked an eyebrow curiously as she leaned forward to look at the lists and rough schematics of over a dozen different vessels. Itemized requests for certain systems, security measures, ideas plucked from other designs, they were all there. What was not there was a layout. Not a single image of what the craft would look like. Many would be clients started with an image and wanted things crammed inside. “There is a lot here,” she noted as she shuffled page after page. “How are you going to pay for all this? Such a task will not come cheap.” She paused as she held up an old designers blueprint and swuinted to read the handwritten notes scrawled across it. “These are originals!” She gasped as her eyes shot from the design plans to the Rodian and back. “Where did these come from?” The Rodian leaned back, a smile or what passed for the Rodian version thereof crossed his face. “They are a gift, a downpayment of sorts, from our benefactor should you undertake this . . . massive project. Salvaged from the wreckage of Coruscant and plucked from the hands of the criminal underworld, these designs belong to the people of the galaxy. Our benefactor knows that you and Nubia Star Drives will keep them safe.” ”As for payment, know that while fledgling, the Alliance has many allies and member worlds with deep pockets and vast resources. It is to protect them that we seek this project be undertaken. The wealth of the whole of the Outer Rim is at our disposal.” Jones nodded, “And I will have the freedom to design such a craft as I see fit?”She asked looking back to the plans, “Some of these things will have to be redesigned from scratch or harvested from across the galaxy.” ”Our benefactor is aware of this. Can you do it?” Jones pondered for a full thirty seconds of silence as she wracked the inner workings of her mind. “I will need to bring in other shipwrights and it will take quite some time.” She picked up a formal order contract. For such a complex task it was quite a simple form. She began to fill in spaces, crossing out certain lines and scrawling in amended scripts. “Whose name should I put on this should there be a lack of payment?” She asked glancing up without moving her head. “And what are we calling this project?” The Rodian paused, “All of that will be fine. Please put the order under the name of Vangar Longfang, Baron Administrator of Cloud City,” he responded for the name. As for the project name, it had not been discussed. He thought about it turning it over in his head before his comrade let loose a low guttural growl. “Yes! Hope. Let us call it Project Hope.” The rest of the meeting consisted of the finer points of contract negotiation, signatures, guarantees, clarifications on certain design elements; but in less than a standard hour the Rodian and Yuzzem were walking out of the Spider Co Building, boarding a shuttlebus and returning to their spacecraft.
  16. “Thats far enough,” the glistening Devaronian customs enforcer growled as he leveled his heavy blaster pistol at the pair of Bothan smugglers as they skidded to a halt. With a flick of his finger the weapon was switched off of stun. Stun was the Wing Guard protocol designated preferred usage of any weapon used by Customs Enforcement; only if that failed or was likely to were Home Guard agents authorized to engage in deadly force. ”A dead end! I told you Zinny this was a bad idea!” The female Bothan babbled to her counterpart, her fur rippling in fear. “Hush woman! I’m thinking” her compatriot growled as his hand fell to his own holstered weapon, a cheap underworld ‘Mos Eisley Special’, as his eyes shot upwards into the exposed rafters looking for a way of escape and contemplating his chances. ”By order of the people of Bespin, you are under arrest.” The devilish man smiled, his pointed teeth only adding to the visage he played into all too easily. “But by all means,” he flicked the gun from side to side, gesturing to the wall of durasteel behind them and the steep drop offs on either side, “try to run.” ”Its a dead end you idjit!” The woman shouted. It was only met by a cold devilish laugh. “Exactly.” A single blaster bolt erupted from the black leather clad Home Guard hunter burying itself into a thick overhead beam of the maze-like construct they had fled into. Both Bothans flinched and the male’s blaster was half-way out of his holster before he regained control of his senses. Drawing on their chaser was a fool’s task and he knew it. The realization dawned across his face. ”Gooooood.” The Devaronian crooned. “Now just toss that thing to the ground and we won’t have any trouble.” The Bothans exchanged worried looks before the one slowly withdrew his blaster and sent it skittering onto the walkway between them and their pursuer. stepping forward, Aldar F’toong planted a foot on the weapon, his own trained on the duo. He canted his head slightly as the comm unit in his ear crackled to life. ‘Spice sir. A lot of it’ ”Understood.” The enforcement officer growled into the cuff of his jacket and the mic contained therein before looking the smugglers up and down. “Spice is it?” He asked with a smile. “Don’t you know that Bespin has been under the control of the Imperium for several years now?” His finger tapped the trigger of his blaster menacingly. “That stuff destroys lives.” The Bothans’ eyes grew big. Both knew there was little use in denying it. They had ditched their ship outside the industrial platform deep in the fog when the cloud cars had first given chase. Raising his hands to the back of his head the larger more muscled man responded, “Thats not ours. We had no idea what was in the crates. We just got hired to deliver the boxes. Don’t open them. No questions asked.” Aldar nodded along his voice light and cheery. “Riiiiiight. And these aren’t my pants either. In fact, I don’t even know whose pants I am wearing today. Some guy just paid me 50 creds to walk around in them today.” The sarcasm grew as he spoke, his smile vanishing, replaced with an aura of serious disbelief. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?!” He snarled gesturing at them with his gun. ”Ok, ok, ok. We’ll tell the truth!” The woman cried, her comrade shooting her a dirty look before rolling his eyes as she spoke. “We needed the money, for our family. Otherwise the kids will starve. We just,” The male Bothan cut her off. “Look boss, what’ll it take for you to look the other way. I know how you types are. What kind of cut are you wanting?” ”Ha!” The Devaronian laughed. “You two really are behind the times aren’t you? The Bespin Wing Guard does not take bribes to look the other way. Not anymore. We just disappear those who disrupt our way of life . . .” The words hung in the air as the realization of the implication dawned on the duo. At that time, a half dozen uniformed Wing Guards rounded the corner, weapons drawn. “Glad you caught them corporal, we’ll take them from here,” a stocky mustachioed man said. Angar slowly lowered his gun, disappointment shining in his eyes as he gazed at the pair of smugglers unblinkingly. Both Bothans seemed to visibly relax. “They both admitted to the spice.” ”Good. Get back to their ship and impound it. Log ALL the evidence.” ”Aye sir,” he holstered his weapon and offered a half-hearted salute before turning and making his way back through the maze of rafters and walkways towards the hastily stashed Corellian freighter. ”Now as for you,” the Captain of the Wing Guard growled, “You’re coming with us.” Soon enough the pair of smugglers were cuffed and being escorted down a completely different pathway to a waiting cloud speeder. Buckled in, they took off into the clouds. Their destination: Cloud City Customs Lock Up. Looking down, the monstrous form of a unidentified warship blurred against the fog of the clouds below them. Another of Bespin’s many secrets.
  17. Hidden behind his buy’ce, Tros winced in pain as he shuffled himself to sit more upright before Clan Larkin’s leaders, as they began to lay out plans for recovery of objects. Meroro Crir and Buya Strarr gave reports of movement still on Nar Shaddaa, along with rumors. “... And while movement is still happening there, I doubt there will be much of any resistance if we showed up with a squad of Fangs to search the area.” Kot’dral turned his head to look at Tros, not being as subtle as he would have thought in his own opinion. Lucky for him, Kami also gave a loud grunting cough to let her speaker, Buya know that she may have overstepped a line. “Fangs would telegraph us being there, and draw unwanted attention. No one knows all that went down. I trust the Huntsmen of Clan Larkin know this…” Kami stepped forward to take center stage. “We do Mand’alor. We would be using smaller shuttles, from a local world to draw less attention. For this purpose of recovering the beskar’gam would fall to only two teams. I do not have the faith in all of the clan members to handle this yet.” There was some movement from the others within the clan to make it clear they were disappointed with the words used. Kami didn’t acknowledge them, but instead kept her head forward. It was a move that Tros respected from her. “I have word that one of our Crusader-class corvettes will be ready for movement. You may use it, but keep it out of sight. Do not engage unless you are certain to leave no survivors. Go.” The dismissal was quick and all of Clan Larkin knew what they had to do, leaving the room quickly to get their job done. Upon them fully leaving the room, Kot’dral turned to face Tros. “Forgive me, but I think that maybe there is too much faith in that Clan. What has been proven outside of Kami?” Tros leaned in heavily to one side of the chair and looked up. Kot’dral echoed what many thought. He knew this from the whispers of others around the throne. Letting out a heavy sigh, he kept his eyes locked on Kot’dral from behind his buy’ce. “Many clans form House Solus. Many Houses form Mandalorians. One House is not better than another. Battle in combat against them if you wish to prove something. Otherwise I will not have Clans bickering like little children. I place my trust in all of the Clans, as I am only as strong as the weakest Clan that I lead. To be declared Mand’alor, I must be able to trust every Clan, every House. Every vod. And they must trust me.” Tros now took the time to stand up and get directly eye level with Kot’dral. “To grow in numbers, we must be willing to let others have a trial by fire experience…” He then slowly began to talk down the small platform of stairs and towards the main war table in the middle of the room. “Speaking of experience… Have we heard anything from our Sith allies?” Kot’dral delayed himself in moving towards his leader. The words stung slightly, but even he knew the truth behind them. He let out a breath before starting to walk down the stairs to join the Mand’alor. “No word. I know that they felt slightly defeated after Nar Shaddaa, however successful individual missions may have gone. Lord Mavanger did as he was supposed to, our own reported that. Rumor has it the remaining of their forces have gathered on an ancient Sith world… No clue as to what that is though…” A slight head turn was all Kot’dral got from Tros. Mand’alor kept his own head in the position looking slightly back at his second in command for a long moment. “Reach out and make contact. Then gather your best Zealots and a few Pathfinders. I have something brewing within my mind…”
  18. The floating fortress hung silently in orbit over the pristine world below. From the outside, nobody could tell anything was amiss. Even from within, aside from the fee glitches that seemed to be popping up in the network, all seemed relatively, well, normal. Of course, mealtime was 15 minutes late. That was almost unheard of. If anything, the station ran like a machine, punctual, routine, boring. Prisoners were gathered together in the bulbous opaqued recreation area-another of the many built in security measures. Nothing was there by chance. Normally only a handful of the best-behaved high priority inmates were allowed in there at once, if at all. The fact that a majority of them, 112 to be precise, were gathered there now under the watchful scanners of three dozen armored, tamper-resistant, stun baton wielding security droids. Behind the screens and within the secured corridors where prisoners never went, the limited crew of the station were on high alert. Things were wrong. Lights flickered and computer screens flashed. The finer workings of the station were under attack from an unknown unseen attacker. In the main control room, the lights flickered and powered down for a full thirty seconds within the secured core of the station. Then the power returned. The computers began to power up in a secure mode. All outside communications were cut off. The station was cut off. Emergency protocols instantly went into effect. None but the stationed warden could override it; and that cybernetic Rodian was currently swinging a stun baton in the yard trying to break up what was fast becoming a riotous brawl. Blast doors slammed into place cutting the yard off from everywhere else. Automated turrets deployed at every junction point and every hallway. Anyone not bearing a security-encoded chip would be turned into holey cheese as the turrets locked onto them and opened fire. As the station began to go into anciently encoded lockdown procedures, the external protective measures of the ship flickered, once, twice, three times. Then they powered back up. A minute later, a flicker, once for ten seconds, twice for ten seconds, a third time - ten seconds. Then back to normal as the ion turrets began to power up again scanning for threats. Security measures fully engaged, the ship began to slowly rotate. The thrusters briefly fired beginning a slowly accelerating decent towards the planet below. The main computer screen in the control center began to flash a countdown. If order was not restored in the next thirty minutes the station would enter the planet’s upper atmosphere, unable to be salvaged as it plummeted towards the mountain ranges below.
  19. Talyn looked upon Sgt. slaughter as he was wheeled in, it appeared even with his injuries the man refused to quit and give in, ever the soldier continuing to fight. He had heard of him and his reputation and was glad to be given the opportunity to work alongside him...few had the stomach for the kind of work they were accustomed too which was understandable. It was not easy to see the horrors they had and still continue to fight. He saluted the man before speaking, adding to the display when it centred around Korriban. He marked out several locations of importance. "Your reputation preceded you Admiral. I am glad to finally meet the man behind the legend so to speak and have a chance to finally work with you. Here you are, the locations of most importance and the defences I can recall seeing on Korriban. As you can see most of the defences seem to be centred about the Praxeum itself, which descends it seems below the surface, but how far I was never able to determine. Most of the levels below the surface were restricted to the Sith Lords and above only. Sith Steel reinforces the pyramids which are trying hard to hide in the landscape, this I was told is used only upon the surface level of the larger complex outside. Then there is the valley itself. The Valley Of The Dark Lords they call it. Full of old tombs, place gives even me the creeps. The cliff faces to either side aimed at limiting any potential angles of orbital bombardment, with the usual point-defense cannons, turbolasers, and ion cannon batteries positioned around the pyramids intended by design to try and stop any drop troops or ordinance. But they should be no trouble compared to the is the threat you don't see. Look here. They have missile batteries hidden from plain sight. I was lucky enough to spot them myself. From what I saw they were loaded with some kind of surface-to-space proton torpedoes and concussion missiles. Beyond that I wasn't sure what else they had, I didn't have time to check further. But as for troops, there was not many left, a skeleton crew for most part for the last several years. Most scattered into the wind after the previous Dark Lord disappeared as the current one went to war taking what they could with them. Hope that helps gentleman."
  20. (Posting OpFor for Sith defending forces) Darth Xervatus looked out from the balcony over the Valley of the Dark Lords. Built into the valley itself, the Praxeum of the Unholy Dominion appeared to the casual glance to be an immortal part of the ancient landscape, a fixture as old as the world itself, and as timeless as the setting sun that cast shadows through the desolate valley. But appearances were deceiving. The Praxeum was a far more recent construction, the ambition of Dark Lord Exodus, and one of the jewels of his ascendant Sith Empire. The three pyramids might look as ancient as the tombs around them, but each was constructed with the best modern materials that could be bought with the riches of the Spider's conquests. That Empire was crumbling around them. The Praxeum, once alive with new students, personnel, and Sith Lords, now boasted only a skeleton crew. The Home Guard, loyal as they were, remained, but even their elite forces were paltry compared to the legions the planet had once commanded. The Sith Empire was at an end. Some Sith denied it. Most of those were dead now. Many more accepted it, and abandoned the stronghold rather than face the rebuke the new Galactic Alliance was no doubt preparing for the rapacious warlords. And Darth Xervatus? Xervatus remained. Xervatus understood. He was not a powerful Sith. The Force had never flowed strongly for him. In many ways that had been a blessing. The old human had been left out of the powerplays and scheming of the more ambitious upstarts, left to his own devices and free to study the wealth of knowledge and lore that made its way to the Praxeum. If someone looked at him, they'd seen a withered, emaciated creature, maybe in his ninetieth year of life. In truth, Xervatus was only 47. Dark Side corruption visited its practioners in different ways, and in differing intensities. It had seemingly crippled Xervatus, while giving him little power in return. It was why so many Sith underestimated how dangerous the old man really was. Yes, appearance were deceiving. Unfortunately, it was his appearance that held him back, kept him from joining the flight. He was weak, a shell so dependent on the dark energies of Korriban that to leave would surely spell his death, as certain as a blaster bolt or the thrust of a lightsaber. And so he remained. But he had not given up. He would fight. He would press on. He would survive. The Praxeum was the true stronghold of Korriban now. Other settlements and cities existed, but it was the Praxeum that would mark the planet's fall. Even with a skeleton crew, it was solid and defensible position. The Sith Steel reinforced pyramids were only the surface level of a the larger construction that stretched over a hundred feet beneath the surface. And then there was the valley itself. The cliff faces to either side limited the angles of orbital bombardment, and the point-defense cannons, turbolasers, and ion cannon batteries positioned around the pyramids ensured that any fightercraft that got too close would be in for a rough flight to drop any troops or payloads. But the real threat was the missile batteries. Loaded with surface-to-space proton torpedoes and concussion missiles. the Praxeum could fire on orbiting ships and ensure anyone who occupied the skies above it did so at a heavy price. Unfortunately, the ammunition to do so was limited, as several enterprising Sith had looted the armory before disappearing to parts unknown. But the real threat to the Praxeum was a ground assault. The place had been built with the understanding that it would maintain a large standing force, both drawn from its Home Guard and from garrisons around the planet. Only the most loyal or fanatical troops remained, and while they were among the best Korriban had to offer they were still far too few to mount an indefinite defense. No, no matter what happened, the Praxeum was doomed to fall. The only question was when...and how much could be saved and hidden away for future use. While other Sith saw the fall of the Sith Empire and ran, Xervatus knew history. The Sith always rose again.
  21. Earlier
  22. Beck stood stirring his caf, which was black and held nothing in it to be stirred, yet that's just what he did as he looked up through a window at the outline shape of his ship, Fiat Lux. There was a lot given to him in the recent meeting. Nothing outside of what was expected, yet still enough to have him lost in thoughts. Captain Isiah walked up to him and observed the scene for a moment before letting out a rather loud cough to get the attention of his Admiral. The inhale of his own breath was what stood out to him the most as he turned to look at the man before him. There was a quick salute, but the longtime Captain did not wait for the return salute before dropping it and moving forward. "Sorry to interrupt sir. Most of the crew has now been shuffled around to let each one take a good six hours on planet. In the midst of everything... command has offered up a promotion..." The slow reveal told him that the man was hesitant to accept it. He wondered for a moment if the loyal officer held reservations due to fear of backlash. He had hoped that he wouldn't give that off to his men. "Isiah, you're a good man. A strong commander and one who has learned everything you could from me. It is time for you to take on something more. Push yourself beyond what you know. It would be foolish to not take a promotion of any kind. I wish you well." He extended his hand to offer a handshake to Isiah, to which the younger man accepted it. "Thank you sir. They gave me a command in advance field intelligence." A slight smile came to Beck at the thought. Isiah was always good at intelligence, which may be why they offered it up to him. "I'm glad they saw you were the one keeping me up to date. I'm not sure who or even how I could selected anyone to replace you." "Well sir.. that's a second thing I wanted to report to you. Lieutenant Lilla Rurn has officially transferred from the Rebel Alliance over to the Imperial navy. Made a special request to join your crew..." That was good news for him. The girl was bold and willing to follow her gut, a trait not common amongst the current officers within the Imperial Navy. But under his new orders, such a request to join his crew would prove to be something different entirely than what she may have been expecting. "I will have to arrange a time to meet with her then. Thank you for your service Isiah, may whatever you believe in help you in your next position." Beck then offered up a salute to his now former second in command deck officer. Once the man returned it, he gave him a firm handshake before watching Isiah turn and left the Admiral alone to his thoughts. Beck took a sip of his caf as he stared at the direction Isiah left for a good three minutes before he returned to looking up at the sky again. Things were indeed about to change.
  23. It had been a really long time since Zalis had even stepped foot on the Capital planet for Black Sun, yet even as she inhaled the air, it reminded her more of home. Between Ord Mantell and Titan, the two were her safe places. The spots she could go to without any worry of something happening that was outside of her control. And even if something did happen outside of her control, it was always profitable or beyond irrelevant that it matter not. She took a moment to observe the landing pad designated for Vigos and others of alike status. Fluanern stood at the other end, awaiting the Queen of Vice to make her way over. She stood in her black uniform, choosing instead to remain within a business state, even though she had long since been given permission to dress up or down. A complete opposite to what Zalis wore, black boots and jacket over a white dress. Her movement across the landing pad was more sluggish due to the amount of traveling she had been doing recently. Fluanern gave a small nod and turned to match pace with Zalis into Black Castle. "Local area has been running smoothly, no hiccups. And word has it that Iridonia has settled in nicely, beginning to adapt to the culture there along with filtering in some of the spice there. Bounty Hunter Guild is also fully up and reporting to us as requested." She turned to acknowledge the woman before stepping into the turbo lift. Upon it closing is when Zalis spoke up. "Less concerned with those avenues Fluanern. I suspected the guild would re-establish upon given the right circumstances. Right now, I want to know what's happening out with our contracts we offered up..." Zalis turned and looked the other woman in the eyes. Her own blue eyes as cold as ice locking with the emerald green of the trusted Vigo. "... We can't afford for anything to go wrong on that end..." The other woman shrugged her shoulders simultaneously with the turbolift doors opening to Zalis's office. The two stepped out together, Zalis making for her chair, while Fluanern headed to a chair directly opposite. "Unfortunately contact is limited. And the facility is so closed off that we can't really see movement or progress..." The words had Zalis close her eyes and think for a moment. They needed something special to distract them from the potential of disaster at the whim of the Crime Families. "When was the last time we threw a party here?..."
  24. A magnificent sight exited hyperspace as the VT-49 dubbed 'The Helmsman's Sorrow' shifted into sublight, it's golden sail flying in the void of space. Upon the Captain's chair sat a bored figure, heavy in weight and in age as he stroked the tendrils that had grown upon his snout with age. Ord Mantell had been known as home of late, and rejoice amongst the crew echoed behind him as Vlad set the distinguished course. An encrypted comm reached out to the planet below from Sha'Kara with gained intelligence from their last venture, and 'The Helmsman's Sorrow' made a path for the Trader's Quarters, with salvage, spice, and humbled riches aboard. A grizzled voice rang across the ship. "It's not Kessel nor Nev'aru'lund, but it's still a sight to behold." Greensnout's grizzled voice echoed through its now quieting hull. "Drink, be merry, but don't spend all your spoils in one place." With a deafening cheer, the crew began their descent, Greensnout taking a brisk swig from his jug of Ambrostine following with a drag from his Tabac pipe. Once landed, they would offload the cargo and collect the credits and most would enjoy the freedoms their hearts desired while in port. As for Greensnout, Bomba, and Sideon, Black Castle would be their next stop.
  25. While the Tusken was busying himself looking around and Zeris was identifying supplies, Kiv was busy reading the fine notes on the datapad. “Very nice, very very nice. Yes yes Grees, you did your buddy Kriffing Kiv very good, hehe.” As he commented this, he kept looking at Meepo, like a dealer would at a potential buy. He almost giggled with delight as the droid helped Zeris. A grunting noise made Kiv turned. The rodent’s five chambered heard skipped several beats when he realized that the Tusken was throwing something at him. Natural instinct kicked in as the Jawa ducked and covered his head, screeching. Thankfully the potentially armed mine never touched the ground. M-1 and M-3, who were observing the group while M-2 was helping sorting Zeris’ order, had raced towards Kiv, heavy manipulator arms extended. With Kiv’s short height, the small mouse droids were able to catch the mine before it slammed into the ground. “Oooh, very good! Very good little things!” Kiv commented as he retrieved the mine from the mouse droids. The droids beeped a thanks. Kiv bent down and petted M-1 like a pet hound. “You make good purchase, yes yes yes!” Kiv glanced at the Tusken. “You trying to kill me big cousin? You scary enough already!” Kiv wandered back to the savage and handed the mine over. “This explosive! I recognize explosive, yes yes. You want this? I get this for you, but no more scaring me, yes?” Meanwhile, Meepo was getting exasperated and increasingly annoyed with Zeris’ order. “I am being exceptionally open-mind ma’am” It said as the humanoid pointed out the speeder bike. “Most people having access to these supplies would need higher level clearance then what you can assuredly provide. However, the use of such a vehicle requires a type 4 or above land vehicle license, and unless you are able to produce such a thing…” “Oi! Info Bank!” Kiv called out as he rushed to the two. “We in hurry, yes? Sooner we get stuff, sooner we leave, as your orders are, yes?” Meepo looked at the diminutive Jawa then Zeris, then at the bike, and gave a sigh. “Very well. I guess it could be reasonably inferred you have such a license at minimum.” “This how you work with droids lady” Kiv commented, patting Zeris’ side. “Make programming work for you, hehe. “If that is all…” Meepo commented and gave a high pitched whistle. Instantly, the mouse droids scurried over to the Military Protocal droid and circled, like womp rats circling a dying animal. Meepo got into a crouching position. It was this point that the others may have noticed Meepo had custom designed back plating, fitting to hold each of the mouse droids like a kind of backpack. Meepo grabbed each droid and, utilizing his fully rotational arms, hooked each one with magnetized locks. “For all purposes, your money will be processed through the Imperial Banking network. Deed of property designated Meepo & 3, have been transferred to your datapad Mister ‘Kiv the stupid, ugly, smelly Jawa.” “Definately going to have to fix that later” Kiv commented. >Nah, its good someone calls you by your full name< Eyes joked, receiving another shooing. “So, you got what you need, we got what we need, we good, yes scary cyborg lady? We can leave now? I know big cousin would like the open skies again.”
  26. MSA

    Ylesia

    As Æquitas stepped out of the landing craft, he turned toward Lady Misal and offered the Elder a helping hand. "Admirable, perhaps not... He spoke in return, a soft smile crossing his face briefly. "But necessary in times such as these. If we don't move forward despite our wounds, then we fail those dependent upon us." As he finished talking, he turned toward those he had just returned, offering each the same helping hand and guidance toward the arriving aid, his mind attentive to Lady Misal as she spoke. He knew she was correct in her assessment, despite his reluctance to admit it. But he also knew he had to keep pushing forward, placing his own needs aside for the sake of others first and foremost. He had been a Padawan for so long that the lack of guidance left a vacancy in his purpose he could not fill. He could only hope that it would work its self out. As he thought upon her request, he only knew of two active Alliance establishments through the scuttlebutt around camp, one an old outpost on the outskirts of camp, and the other a nearby tent used by the Alliance higher ups. Which would be of better use to her, he held no idea. "I only know of two possibilities ma'am. A nearby tent used as a command post by the Higher Ups here in the camp, and an old outpost on the outskirts, neither of which I am sure may hold what you need."
  27. Unbeknownst to Ōk, the recreation yard he found himself within sat upon the outer skirts of the station under a transparent plasteel ceiling that gave a beautiful view of the sky above. Blinded as he was, all he could do was relive what he had previously seen through memories and what he had felt. On occasion, certain sounds, feelings, and smells could aid his imagination into what his surroundings would appear as. But only his sight within the Force could confirm or deny what he could think up. Klaxons erupted in the distance, quickly followed by repulsion and the scurrying of bound feet as the guards began to escort prisoners in caused Ōk to notice and rise from his laying position. Attentively, he listened, hearing the comm chatter of malfunctions and possible malware erupted from their guards positions and a smile crossed his sunken face. It seemed Helvault wasn't all what it was made to be, and he rather enjoyed knowing that his captures were experiencing such a pain. As the inmates were brought in, the guards began to gather everyone into the yard's center, Ōk included, as he felt a cold steely hand grasp his arm and mechanical orders were barked in guidance to join the others. Irritating, but Ōk followed suite and soon found himself admist those whom were brought in and had arrived earlier. There was simply too many for Ōk to properly access the situation any further as the comm chatter was soon drowned out by both basic and alien languages and a few disgruntled inmates aching to cause trouble, the fog of their rebellious nature's thick enough to cut. One fight broke out in the crowded area, causing a simple but effective collective of inflared tempers to lash out in random intervals, and before Ōk could even react, he felt his form pushed with the momentum and from a nearby tussle as he was thrown into a nearby lifeform at his rear (@Krath Apothos). Reeling from the inmate, he turned to the being an spoke a singular sentence, his tone formal and yet unapologetic, almost coyful. "My bad."
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