Jump to content

Nar Shaddaa


BLCKCLONE
 Share

Recommended Posts

She waggled a dark eyebrow and grinned even wider, writing a last sentence then snapping the datapad closed as they walked. 

 

“Well sir, killing the Dark Cloaks is our speciality!” 

 

And she did not speak a mistruth, but perhaps she should have said ‘defeating the dark cloaks.’ But that had far more nuance that she did not need to pass off on the Trandoshan for now. She waved to her group of Ace pilots and they jogged up to join them. 

 

“Hey everyone this is…” She realized that she did not know his name so looked at him with a cowed expression on her face. Hoping that he would speak his clan name. “And these are my squadmates from the Jedi Order! We were just heading back to the compound if you wanted to join us.” 

 

-continue your response on the rebel base thread-

tallie-(1).png.b1dc2a24eb95e200687e59f969008b3d.png

tvWz5an.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 weeks later...

Once she recovered from the quiet, the vertigo, the dread sense of being the only sapient being in eight cubic kilometers, and the knowledge that a single mishap with her suit’s thrusters had the potential to send her into a Mandalorian funeral in Nar Shaddaa’s atmosphere or a frozen grave in the space between planets… Johanna actually began to enjoy her time in null-gravity. The absence of the bonds of gravity allowed for a surprising freedom of movement. Every half-second of thrust translated to a surprising degree of acceleration that her gravity-limited mind was having difficulty translating into its previous conceptions of distance.

 

Even barring the tactical options that null-gravity opened up, it was difficult to remember a time that Bryce had seen a better view. The Bespinian stood on the riven hull of the Mandalorian Star Dreadnaught Medusa, situated within the drydock of Nar Shaddaa. Only forty-five degrees above the horizon, she could see the cityscape of the night side of the Smuggler’s Moon. Concentric rings of golden light criss-crossed over the moon’s surface, interspersed by shifting, multicolored glares in the center of several of those rings--a concert, performance, or some other demonstration? Judging from the smoke, however, it seemed that a major fire had broken out in the Corellian Sector. Closer to her location, a constant stream of pinprick lights traveled to and from the moon. And closer still, no less than ten fleet tenders were attached to Medusa by umbilical. Hundreds of sapients and droids were marching over the exterior of the vessel with plasma torches and shaped charges, cutting--or blowing away--portions of the ship’s armor and batteries for reprocessing in the kilometer-long foundry ship that loomed above her.

 

Poor Medusa. Only a short time ago, it had been the pride of the Mandalorian fleet. Now its hull and armor was being melted down to forge the newest capital ships of the Rebel Alliance and her remaining ordinance was being diverted to much smaller, less fearsome craft.

 

“What are you doing here? You have authorization to be here?” A coarse, clipped tone--Corellian?  Johanna couldn’t see through the shielded faceplate--growled over the proximity comlink.

 

“Null-grav exercises. This is the largest stable position in the system.”

 

“Not where you’re standing, it ain’t,” the dockworker grunted, pointing downward to indicate a crimson ribbon of shaped charges. “This plate’s blasting off in thirty seconds. Might want to move there. In fact… you just stick near me so you can keep clear of any hazard zones. Check-check, twenty five, get clear.” The dockworker moved with surprising nimbleness given the ungainly suit that covered every square centimeter of his body. As Johanna stomped along the hull, she marveled at how the dockworker casually jogged, triggering his magwell boots in imitation of a run that she had seen on low-gravity worlds, with entire seconds between strides. Indeed, once the Bespinian had begun to imitate his stride, she bounded along the hull at a pace that rivalled her Bridge Rush and reached the next kilometer-long section of armor in only a few minutes.

 

Mid-stride, she didn’t even feel the explosion that sent a great durasteel square of armor drifting into space. She tailed the dockworker for some time, closely watching the efficient movements that conserved the energy needed to move the bulky suit.

 

An hour later, the Bespinian bounded along the hull to observe a team of dockworkers disassembling a railgun battery. A team of twenty was swarming over the fortification like a horde of ants, cutting apart the massive barrels and manually ripping out tangles of conductive fiber and circuitry into open space, where it would be collected by the shipyard’s droids. This particular battery was only a short distance from an airlock--not one of the tiny, two-man umbilicals, but a five-meter portal sealed by an armored blast door. Standing directly on the massive steel plate, Johanna stared downward and considered the force necessary to breach such a barrier. Man-portable ribbon charges would be insufficient--a proton torpedo would manage the task. Or… one of the boarding torpedoes that the Sith had used to great effectiveness at the Third Death Star could breach it and probably tunnel through several compartments before its inertia was finally stopped. Atmosphere would be a concern after breaching so many interior compartments, but portable air supplies were lighter than the charges needed to breach a seal that thick.

 

That was even assuming that a conventional assault was necessary. Taking a cue from the dockworkers, Johanna took a gentle leap at a run and triggered her suit’s thrusters. allowing for inertia to carry her the remainder of the six kilometers to the bridge. A gentle application of the magwell boots allowed her to take the landing at a bounding run, gradually coming to a halt over a hundred meters. Captain Bryce stood amongst the wreck of Medusa’s bridge and the terraces of its superstructure. The recessed bridge was a difficult target for a turbolaser or a starfighter to hit, but a marine could easily place breaching charges and blast through where the transparisteel canopy had been. A boarding action wasn’t even necessary--Bryce could see the welding marks that remained of the shield generators. Shaped charges--or even sustained fire from an E-Web--could demolish the towers in short order, rending the bridge vulnerable to strafing runs.

 

Before Bryce could begin to traverse the command superstructure and venture into the bridge, that obnoxious Agamarian drawl oozed over the comlink.


“Cap, we need’ja ‘ere back a’ Wreckin’ Machine.” Bryce shuddered. “Evac shuttle’s on ‘er way. C’n give yer report once, y’get back, but sumth’s going down.”

captbryce.png.2c8f791ababda85e8e03e99cfa70b878.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 months later...

          Alliera had quickly entranced a group of the younglings with stories of old Tal'verda Glories, and legends her clan had about old Jedi and Sith. She didn't have much else to do at the moment, she didn't have a master yet to train her, and the classes she had been attending were out for the moment. Other than that, she had been festooned into helping get people situated, even 6 months after Coruscant things were still a mess at the adhoc 'Jedi Temple'. During this time, Alliera had garnered a minor following among the younglings with her stories. The younglings accepted Alliera, in a place where everyone else seemed too busy to deal with the Jedi Hopeful. That helped the Mandalorian to fit in with the big Jedi 'Family', and caused her to 'open up' more to the idea of being a Jedi and a part of the 'family'. That caused a problem though. Her new family was in a perceived peril. 

 

        Like all good Mandalorian Clans, Clan Tal'verda kept an eye on prospective contracts for Bounty Hunting work that went beyond the norm. The bounty on Force Users was among the contracts that the girl's previous life made her aware of. Younglings certainly counted, in Ally's reckoning, she had seen a few do interesting things with the force already. To add to that concern, they were on Nar Shaddaa, where the kind of Bounty Hunters that absolutely would steal a child were likely to be. The Jedi were too busy either still scraping together something from their previous life, or trying to deal with the ascendant Sith Empire. The Alliance Military could likely do something, but with how big and corrupt Nar Shaddaa was, something was bound to slip through the cracks. So, Alliera was again in her armor, craddling Ori'kad, the improvised Energized Shotgun. The younglings, unknown to her, had seen her go with concern. The children, with a determination only children posess, went to go find one of the really important adults to tell them what was going on. 

 

   ----------------------------------------------------

 

       

     Alliera's first target was a dingy bar, one she had found deep in the alleyways and backstreets. Even walking in, the girl could see that she had been right about this place, there were plenty of the types her parents had taught her to avoid keeping to isolated tables or shadowy booths... The bar was also packed, but not as much. "What can I get ya?" The Bar-droid asked, washing a glass like the walking cliche he was. "A corellian ale will be fine." As the droid got her order, a group was eyeing her up. She was young yes, but a Mandalorian was a Mandalorian, and the bounty they were chasing made it a sure thing that they they could afford her. So when the girl got her drink, a dark skinned Rodian slipped onto the stool next to the girl, careful to avoid the rather large gun. "My associates and I were wondering if you'd be interested in helping us." He said, after signalling the bar droid that he didn't want anyhing "Not safe to discuss here, join us if your interested, there are alot of credits in it if we succeed." The Rodian left back to his dark booth, where he doubtlessly had a crew waiting. Alliera made a show of thinking about it over her drink, before setting down the empty class and coming over. 

 

    The group consisted of the Rodian, 2 humans in ramshackle armor, a Twi-Lek in scavanged Stormtrooper armor, and a Devaronian in a smuggler's outfit. "Now that your interested, here's the job: There's a pretty substantial bounty on Force Users, and the new 'Jedi Temple' here on Nar Shaddaa has a bunch of little snot 'younglings' that should do nice..." One of the humans had started to say, before the distinctive retort of a Westar-55 silenced him. The body's head bounced off of the booth wall and slammed on the table. Alliera was out of the booth, and the next shot came from the Ori'kad, as the rest of the 'crew' were trying to either pull blasters of thier own or get out. The Devaronian wasn't helping matters as he was simultaniously pushing the body and trying to shove his compatriots out of the way, he was at the very back to the booth and was almost stuck. These movements jostled the rest of the crew and made the efforts to run or fight all the more confusting. The energized nerfshot* blasted through the rodian and the Twi'lek, both of which were trying to pull thier own side arms while being jostled by the table and the other. 

 

The Devaronian, pulled out a pouch, and dumped a bunch of black powder into his hand, as his last human compatriot finally pulled his blaster and started shooting at the girl. "You think you can mess with me, kill my friends without consiquence!?!" The Human called, as Alliera jumped over the bar "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, AND DROP YOUR FRELLING HEAD OFF AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE TEm..." THe human didn't say anymore, because an usually strong Devaronian hand was around his throat, and he was thrown to the side. The Devaronian was able to finally extricate himself from the bodies and the booth, and charged the bar. By this point, the patrons and the Bar Droid had all evacuated the area, and were cowering in one of the back rooms. Alliera tried to grab Ori'Kad to shoot the Devaronian, but it was pulled from her grasp and thrown to the opposite side of the bar, as she was pulled up by her neck. Like her gun, the girl was thrown, this time to the booth...where this had all began. the young woman's back slammed into the edge of the booth table with a 'WHAM', and a cry from the girl before she fell to the ground. She found herself smeling something vaguely familiar.. "Sulfer?" she asked, more to herself than others. "Yeah, I keep a pouch with me at all times, to help me deal with little bugs like you." The Devaronian said, grabbing a bottle of ale off from behind the bar...confident in his victory. What the devaronian didn't realize was the blaster shots from his former companion had shattered many of the bottles and storage mediums behind the bar, leading to a growing puddle and trail of Alchohol. that quickly spread from under his boots to a few meters in several directions. The fumes and smell was becoming almost too much for a normal human, but the Devaronian wasn't paying attention. He was drunk on his power, and what he would do to the little Mandalorian that had killed his compatriots. 

 

One person that did notice what happened was Alliera, as she was getting up, she remembered what her Ba'buir taught her about how flamable Alchahol was, and how it wasn't necissarily the liquid. Alliera flashed her flamethrower somewhere close to one of the growing puddles, and it worked. The Devaronian was preparing to move again, to show this little mandalorian who was really the boss...before he got set ablaze by a mix of the flumes that engulfed him and the natural flammability of organic beings. The Bar exploded shortly afterwards, too many flames and high pressure systems were compromised. Luckily, the bar patrons had either left, or hid with thier bar seated breathren in the back, so noone was hurt...other than the Devaronian...who was already on fire to begin with. Alliera, seeing her work done, walked away from the mess and into the back alleys and streets of Nar Shaddaa, but not before grabbing the Ori'kad. She hadn't intended to blow up the bar, but her father had always said that it was just a hazard of doing the business in a place of highly flammable chemicals and high pressure containers. 

Edited by MandaJetii
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 1 month later...

Nar Shadaa, the Smuggler's Moon...

 

Or so it had been called such for hundreds of millennia. Now it was the home base of the Rebel Alliance and it's trio of Lightsided Foundations. But even amidst the brightest of lights, shadows linger in its cracks and crevasses, hidden from sight from even the most detailed viewers. And this is where the criminal underworld of the once economic Hutt space still resided.

 

K'reel walked amongst the many back alleys and side streets, visiting the darkest of dives as any smuggler would in such a highly judiciary planet such as the one Nar Shadaa had become. The Karkarodon towered above most sapients and sentients, but even one such as he easily could disappear and reemerge amongst the crowded masses as need be. Such was the way of an alien world where many gathered. And with a little mental fortitude and luck, no one could grow to be the wiser.

 

His contact was like any other, a dock worker with a habit, scrounging up the last few credits to support it without his family being any of the wiser. He held no true knowledge what the information would be purposes for, only the request for the information of local departures from the Red and Black district. So when K'reel made his initial approach, his grimacing teeth barring a deathly unappealing smile, the Sullustan was quite surprised and taken aback.

 

"Are you the one who requested fish lady Jedi departure?" He question squealishly in his native tongue. "Family will notice if I no return."

 

"Silence Sullustan." K'reel spoke, his tone barely above a whisper as his gaze slowly shifted about the darkened room before he pulled out a fairly sized portion of spice. "Dead contacts make information a scarse commodity."

 

With a relieved sigh, he took his payment and placed it inside his uniform before leaning in closely to speak. "Fish lady Jedi go to frozen Jedi world Ilum. Flew away few days ago. Don't know why anyone want to visit frozen worlds, especially fish lady."

 

K'reel smiled as the Sullustan spoke and leaned back, his rows of teeth stratching completely across as he stood up. Nodding his head, K'reel made ready to depart. So Ilum was his next destination. He knew Jedi held certain worlds sacred, but like the Sullustan, couldn't fathom why anyone would traverse such harsh worlds. But then again, Jedi rarely made any sense to anyone outside their Order. 

 

Ilum or not, she was his target. And that would be where he would be going next.

Edited by Kreel Son of Drell
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 6 months later...

The streets were more crowded than she would have thought. Nothing like the sprawling carve granite walkways of Naboo, everything here was dense and dark. Prefab buildings on prefab buildings, the perfect place for crime to be fostered. But the Rebels, or at least their Imperial Remnant predecessors had done much to clear out the criminal underworld. Reports of the mass execution of the Hutt slaving class were not uncommon, and Namari did not much care about it. What she did care for however were the children and other beggars that wandered the streets. Too young for the jobs that were offered, and rebellious enough to ignore the schools and the mind numbing education programmes that teachers pumped out en masse. 

 

Namari did not care for any of it. Instead she walked the refugee wardens with two non uniformed soldiers, giving what credits she could to the beggars. Almsgiving being a key part of her own personal religion. Not to mention she actually genuinely cared for the plight of the refugees. Many were from her own world. Which had been brutally laid to waste.

1602728932_pastedimage0.png.be6656e9271682dd4be932788f9a8ee0.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Setting out of place within the grimy world, a large twisted tree stood. It’s branches hung heavily, the black foliage glistening in the sunlight. It was such an odd eccentricity amongst the manmade structures, prefabricated homes, and dreary life that even now hovered over the people of Nar Shaddaa. Nobody knew where the tree had come from or what had forced the upheaval of duracrete cobblestones to reveal the earth the tree clung to. If asked, any passerby would just shrug and offer an explanation of some variation amounting to, “one day it wasn’t there. Then one day it was.”

 

And yet, there was something about the tree that kept the locals from hacking it down for firewood or fun, a soft glow that seemed to warm the hearts of any that took rest beneath it’s shadow. It really was in the way if one thought about it.

 

The tree bore no fruit. It’s black leaves seemed a stark contrast to the usual green of plant life. The twisted wood was of little use but to be burned. Still, it rarely dropped leaves or branches and all in all was a tidy little spot that seemed to not accumulate any rubbish or refuse.

 

Today, a group of children had taken to playing amongst the great timber’s branches, scrambling up and down and around. Their laughter echoed down the streets, warming the hearts of those who heard them. Their mothers gathered nearby exchanging gossip, bits, and baubles with ever watchful eyes.

 

Deep within the tree, a being sighed mentally. It was not a sigh of frustration or grief. If one were to compare sighs, this one was almost pleasant. And with that sigh, the tree’s branches and leaves rustled as if blown by a warm breeze even though there was no wind in the still cityscape’s air.

 

Contentment. Frond was content here. After the goings on of Ossus, he had cast himself away from the Jedi and back to that which he knew, to the world beyond shadows. There he contemplated for what felt like a step before eternity. Yet even there, the lessons of the force, of the Jedi, followed him. In a world beyond physiciality, the tree found himself meditating, moving his wooded humanoid body along the paths of  martial contemplation. He did not have a lightsaber, that part of him, along with his connection to the Jedi and the poisons of the dark side had been hewn off by the Jedi and Imperial Knights.
 

Frond was still a Mind Walker and yet, he was more. He cared little for the material world. The force was all that was truth. Beyond the crude matter of the worlds about him in the galaxy. Yet he continued to see glimpses of the galaxy, of the mortal coil. Flashes of violence, smoking deathscapes, burning jungles, and more. Violence plagued wherever he looked, whenever he looked. So it was that one day, Frond had taken to securing transport off world to this dreary landscape, drawn by the aura of hopelessness and an inexplicable feeling that something of great importance to not just the mortal world, but the force itself, could happen here.

 

And amongst such dreary existence, Frond had planted himself one cloudless night, a flash of yellow light and a frack transforming his humanoid form into a towering ancient tree, willowy in nature, twisted trunk and hanging tendrils. From there he returned to his meditations, emanating the seeds of light implanted by the Jedi outward to counteract the looming darkness.

 

So even now, Frond sighed, relaxing and enjoying the moment as it played out. He did not look towards the future and her looming darkness. This was peace. Here, amongst the laughter of children and the chatter of friends, the backdrop of pain and suffering, carried by a galactic war, melted into oblivion.

 

Frond was happy. Well, he was as happy as he could be on what he felt to be this doomed mortal scape. And so he sat, basking in the light of the sun, nourishing his wooded form, his mind aglow as he simply existed in the moment, allowing the joy of the children to become his very own. At least here, in this out of the way intersection of the burrows and ghettos, there was joy.

 

Then he felt it, a presence not of these tired and toiled, but something different, a regal bearing of blemished light, stomped but not extinguished. Where it moved, it glowed, lighting embers of hope upon it’s path.  Such a peaceful moment approached and before he knew it, had melded with his own. Without eyes in this form, Frond could not see, but he felt her, this hope giving gracefulness, and he was intrigued.

 

The tree creaked as Frond instinctively leaned slightly, his viney swaying appendages reaching to be nearer the presence that was Queen Namari.

 

One of the children, a dark-haired boy of no more than nine, with eyes to match ran to the Queen and grabbed her hand. His white toothy smile illuminated his entire face as he tugged at her hand. “C’mon! Come closer to the tree! Leave a gift and be repaid in ten!” he chortled playfully as he tugged Namari beneath the dangling blankets of glistening black plant.

 

Within the shadowy canopy, children crawled back and forth above and the twisted and gnarled trunk was adorned with all manners of toys and baubles left there by the locals. Each day they would leave their gifts for the mysterious tree and the next sunrise, they would be gone. Sometimes they appeared at another’s home in their window or upon their doorstep. Other times they seemed to vanish for days or weeks before showing back up; always at the home of they that needed it most. It was a miracle to some. Magic to others. Yet no one could deny the benefits that were conveyed when their need was met by the mysterious tree that seemed to facilitate the provision of their communal needs.

 

And as the refugee Queen of the Naboo passed beneath his fronds, his tendrils draping her shoulders like a cape, Frond felt her touch and his mind reached out for hers, ‘The touch of the spring, carries hope unto the life, vanquished is autumn’

  • Like 1
XQ19Jfm.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

It was such a strange thing to be seen in the depths of Nar Shaddaa. She had always been a curious girl, even in the training to be selected for the queenship. She had spent hours every day studying everything she could about the Jedi, the force, and their age old rivals, the Sith Lords. She had watched the conquest of an imperial remnant be joined by the survivors of the Galactic Alliance, while sitting the stuffy chambers of the royal palace. While the heroes died, she sat on the throne of a useless and unhelpful kingdom. Had she ever had any semblance of power over the provisional council she knew that she would have joined the war before it reigned down on their heads. 

 

But peace was a lie. It always had been. 

 

But this peace was different. It was not the blissful peace of an insignificant vacation world on the skirts of the Galactic Alliance. It was the peace of the force. It did not assuage her anger, or her fears, but it did soften them. Turning knife point to dull blade. 

 

She let a smile come to her lips and she let herself be embraced by the peace of the Tree being. But it did not stop the fears. The knowledge that this world was next. 

 

“I fear winter comes on the next breeze.”

  • Like 1

1602728932_pastedimage0.png.be6656e9271682dd4be932788f9a8ee0.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Frond’s fronds rustled in the non-existent breeze of the force. He could feel the emotions that boiled beneath the Queen’s warm calm demeanor; the weight of a crown. And so, he allowed the warm weight of his tendrils to ever so slowly press in with a warm embrace.  
 

“Like wind, you speak truth, from the deadness of winter, life flows like a stream.” he pressed from his mind to hers, gently rebutting her statement with the warmth and hope that he felt assured of within his own soul. Where evil existed, so did good; where death, life; and where darkness was the strongest, light would always shine through. Such was the way of the force.

 

The tree would stand, radiating warmth and life throughout the day. It was as he had done for many days before and as he would do into the future; a weight in the scales of light to hold the cosmic balance in place.  
 

Yet, here in the moment, Frond felt the weight of the queen’s short life, her desires to do more, to be more for the souls of her people. Without words, he encouraged her to stay as long as she needed. He embraced her with the warm weight of his leafy limbs. Wordlessly, he invited her to return late that night when the people had all gone home. He urged her to return so that they could do what was right. 

XQ19Jfm.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Never had she been so thankful for the metal floors of the prefabricated and mass produced quarters she was living in. They did not creak at all like the mahogany floors of the winter palace where she had spent only one short and blissful winter before naboo had been ravaged by the Sith. But these floors did not give away any sound as she silently walked through the winding corridors, past sleeping handmaidens, guards, and one Imperial Knight who merely glanced at her and shook his head before pretending to go back to sleep. 

 

She slowly slid the door open on its manual setting, and crept out into the night of Nar Shaddaa. At first glance, the looming highrise skyscrapers of the upper levels and their dimly lit and distant windows were indistinguishable from the night sky. A haze of stars and lights against a vague and gloomy background of dark night. She slipped on her soft leather shoes and pulled her cloak tight about her and walked towards where she had last seen the tree being. 

 

Nar Shaddaa had always been a scummy world, its nightlife and clubs more popular than its daylight hours. But a curfew had long been in effect and the only clubs around offering only business to those with military credentials. The streets certainly felt safe for it, and though there were plenty of people walking and doing business in the late night shops, there were also the grey armoured stormtroopers, whose presence was thick on the streets and street corners. Their shoulder pauldrons bearing the mixed insignia of their units and the phoenix of the rebel alliance. Most did not wear their helmets, keeping them looped by the chinstraps to their belts. 

 

She ducked through an alleyway and ducked again into the shade of the tree being. 

 

“Are you awake?”

  • Like 1

1602728932_pastedimage0.png.be6656e9271682dd4be932788f9a8ee0.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Frond’s heart smiled at the return of the stalwart queen by cover of night. He had not been sure she would return. His viney limbs rustled in response to her query; the soft sound of nature piercing the still night of the back streets. He glowed warmly at her return and then, they waited. His warm aura continued to radiate into the emptying streets. Gently he allowed the peacefulness of eternal stillness and bliss to wash the area, a light breeze that seemed to emanate from nowhere and blow outwards; softly chasing flecks of dirt and darkness away. 
 

Eventually the streets were entirely bare, even the most grog-addled soldiers searching for a place to sleep off their inebriation. The occasional patrol would pass, but here in the shadows, the tree was nothing of concern. And as they waited, Frond’s knot holes creaked and slowly morphed enclosing the gifts of the day, opening anew, empty. 
 

And then the stillness was pierced by a single sharp crack, the sound of limbs snapping as a instant flash of light broke the dark shadows of the night. Stillness followed in it’s path as if nothing had happened at all. Yet, the towering willowy tree was gone, replaced by a four-legged creature of twisted grain and glistening black leafed ‘fur’ down it’s back. It was almost caninoid in appearance, standing shoulder to shoulder with the queen. Turning, the creature gazed upon the woman, swathed in disguise. They were not that different these two, hiding in plain sight.

 

The wooden creature closed his eyes in a drawn out blink before looking to young ruler again, his mind feeling for her own. He beckoned her to accompany him, a hand on his shoulder or atop his back, he did not mind either. Quietly he padded down the street, allowing the force flow outwards, feeling for those within. Where he felt need, they would stop, a gift from an earlier time, regurgitating within his maw. Gingerly he would deposit it at an open windowsill or within the shadows of a doorway.  
 

From house to house they moved, the goodness of the living force radiating from them as they sought to meet the needs of the many. Stopping at a dilapidated home, the creature craned his head to look at the queen. In a world of loss and need, even this structure stood out like a beacon of need. One did   not need the force to see the need here. Indications of numerous children existed everywhere. The door barely remained on it’s hinges. Windows were cracked and some even missing. A corner of the building had been rebuilt with scavenged planks; even now rubbish piling up against it.

 

Pawing at a piece of metal in the dirt of the ground, Frond unearthed and flipped a metal sign. In the dim light from a wall-mounted glowstick down the street the sign read ‘LITTLE REBELS ORPHANAGE a home for those abandoned by the ravages of war”

 

”Saplings need water; in the desert, rain is scarce; a bucket, a friend.” Frond spoke, his mind pressing in on the queen’s. He did not know her. She did not know him. Yet they were united under the causes of goodness and compassion. In this, he invited Namari to take a turn, to take that which she had been given and to make a difference in the lives of those less fortunate. A low mewling pleading growl punctured Frond’s point, spilling from his wooden maw.  That which they had was fleeting. It meant nothing; but it could be used for eternal good, to wrest the cosmic balance back from the deepest darknesses that lurked in every man.

 

They were a long ways from Frond’s growing spot and the first lights of the sunrise were just starting to graze the horizon; their pale glow against the smoggy sky radiating above the jutting buildings that surrounded the rundown orphanage. 

XQ19Jfm.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Ann held the crudely manufactured sign and ran a finger over the eroded lettering. It was strange to find such a thing here, in the deepest slums of the arcology world. The slums that had once been occupied by spice dealers and slavers, were now occupied with the poor and sick, living off the refuse of the upper class. Not to say that the rebellion and the imperial remnant that ran the world were doing a bad job, but what could you do? Tens of thousands of refugees arrived every week, speaking in hushed tones of some world a dozen lightyears away being laid to waste, or its inhabitants purged, enslaved and starving. Naboo had been such a world. But so few of them had gotten off world. Only a thousand or so were all that remained of her domain. 

 

But they still had the royal treasury, and as she propped the sign against the eroding permacrete wall, she decided she would use those funds for this. To help the poor when they could. For even if Naboo were restored, they would just replace her in the next general election. It was time for her and her alone to make an impact. Before the opportunity slipped through her fingers. 

 

“How do we start?” 

  • Like 1

1602728932_pastedimage0.png.be6656e9271682dd4be932788f9a8ee0.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The maw of the creature-formed Frond twisted into a toothy smile of wooden teeth as he looked at the queen. This place held a glimmer of hope amongst the hopelessness that seemed to radiate from it’s very porous walls. His eyes glimmered with hope. 
 

Raising up on his hind legs, Frond twisted unnaturally towards the sky, a flash of yellow light and a wooded crack piercing the night for but an instant. Standing where the wooden creature had been, now stood a towering (8 feet) tall humanoid. It was if he had grown from the viney and trunks and tendrils of trees. Garbed in all the splendor of nature.

 

Turning to the queen, Frond smiled widely, exuding a sense of peace towards her as he extended a hand to the queen. He reached out to gently take her hand, turning it so her palm lay upwards in his own smooth woody tendrils. With another limb, Frond reached into a deep scarred rift in his chest and removed a prepackaged can of Salthia Bean Paste. He pressed it into her hand as he whispered, his voice carrying to her ears for the first time since they met. “Give.”

 

Frond smiled at Ann. He could see the pain such a sight pressed against her. He could feel her desire to help. He knew that he alone could not care for everyone in need. He had nothing; serving only as a pass through for the generosity of neighbors for neighbors. But from those who had excess, he welcomed them to care for they that did not even have necessity. It was up to this girl to decide what she did from here. Each soul was responsible for its own place in eternity.

 

Taking his eyes off of the queen, Frond glanced towards the brightening pre-sunrise sky. 
 

“Sunset brings the night; mystery thrives in shadow; sunrise purifies” he spoke, gesturing back the way they had come. They had cone far depositing gifts through the night, but now Frond needed to return before the waking of the townspeople stirred alarm at the mysterious giving tree’s disappearance. 
 

Turning, Frond squeezed Namari’s hand before letting go. “Tonight?” he sighed, before shuffling away as quickly and quietly as he could. 

XQ19Jfm.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Red and Black within range of major Sith fleet elements. Attack is expected. Fortify shipping approaches to Red and Black with utmost dispatch. See Attachment 6: schematics for kinetic-kill weapon for use in orbital debris fields. Do not bring Fidelity into the system.

 

“Fixed fortifications...” are a monument to the stupidity of man, went the rest of the quote. In all of Slaughter’s history in the armed forces of the republic, from his time as a simple line soldier to his present position as the commander of multiple fleet elements, he had never had the misfortune to be tasked with preparing fortifications. Those were waste of time and resources that could be better spent preparing for a decisive assault, his training  as a Talon claimed taught him. It was better to go on the offensive--even to live off the land in enemy-held territory--than to passively wait to be attacked on a location that was critical to the war effort.

 

However, judging from the schematics that had been sent from the office of the Jedi Grandmaster, not all of the fortifications were strictly immobile.

 

The Majestic-class Heavy Cruiser Kalidor lumbered out of the drydocks of Nar Shaddaa SpaceWorks, flanked on all sides by an entourage of smaller vessels. Most of them were small Corellian vessels, such as the speedy, cylindrical DP20 Frigates that were so valuable as anti-starfighter supports, but in this instance their size--or lack thereof--and speed would make them more survivable in the debris fields than the other ships in the squadron. Aside from Kalidor, the largest ship in the squadron was the ancient Carrack-class Light Cruisers Breachmaker and Vigilant. The latter might have been part of the reserve fleets that drove Grievous away from Coruscant, judging from the kill insignia on her broadside.

 

At the end of the careers of those two venerable  cruisers, they had been utterly gutted: stripped of all but the most essential crew. The remainder of both ships--including their TIE racks and a number of jury-rigged arrays that trailed from their flanks like tentacles--were occupied solely by a prodigious cargo of space mines.

 

“Take us out, Lieutenant, one quarter forward until we clear the docks. Signal the corvettes that they are free to send out their engineers as they see fit.” Flanked by the boxy Vigilant and Breachmaker, the Heavy Cruiser lumbered out into the moon’s crowded spacelanes. Once in position, the three larger ships began to release their cargo of mines. It would be a relatively standard mixture: a blend of contact-fused, proximity-fused, as well as a small number of the more modern models that were armed with a laser cannon. 


The smaller ships braved the unpredictable debris fields that littered portions of the moon’s orbit, further contributing to the hazards with proximity-fused mines. The more perilous obstacle that they left behind, however, would be the modifications that the Alliance’s ever-resourceful and enthusiastic engineers made to some of the larger pieces of ship debris. Illuminated by clouds of searchlamps, the lights on their own suits, and the sparks issuing from their tools, these engineers faced one of the most dangerous assignments that had ever been entrusted to a combat engineer: to work in null-gravity, in a debris field, and with improvised equipment and ad hoc schematics.

  • Like 1

ayFLmkV.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Frond shuffled quietly back to his perch in the dilapidated city square as the first rays of sunlight began to trickle in from above. The long shadows of sunrise blanketed the world in starkly differentiating patterns of grays and purples, yellows and reds. Amongst that, a sharp crack echoed down the empty streets and in a flash of yellow light, a light that was lost in the rays of the sun, Frond transformed. The Neti’s body twisted and arced growing upwards and outwards, 30 feet in each direction, until his foliage reached towards the sky and encompassed the better part of the intersection. 
 

Here the ancient being stood, in the rapidly warming air of the day, an aura of peace radiating outwards. A new day had began and soon enough the waking people were discovering the blessings of Anne and his own nighttime handiwork, blessed in their times of need. He basked in it. With the newness of day came the freshness of rest and the hope of a future. Soon enough, as denizens began to shuffle to work and children to school, they stopped beneath the heavy fronds of his canopy. Some left gifts in his emptied crevasses,  others simply ran a hand down his smooth barky exterior in silent thanks. 
 

Frond exhaled, a directionless breeze flicking and flittering his foliage in gentle symphony. He was at peace.

 

He remained as such as the day wore on, exuding peacefulness to all that passed. Yet something different wafted on the air. With each hurried passerby or marching column of soldiers; every speeder that whizzed by in the distance and craft that glode overhead, it seemed to grow microscopically, as if carried on the very breath of this bastion moon. Something was afoot. Tension raised. It was the beginning of unseen preparations for an unknown but suspected act. The world itself seemed to brace itself as the denizens made their preparations. On a stronghold such as this, war was always on the air, it permeated all that took place; but now, it was as if that everpresent lurking truth had been thrust to the forefront. It even rippled oh so delicately on the force, for those that took the time to watch it. Beyond Shadows, Frond had seen something of the sort centered on this world, these people. It was what had drawn him to this very spot, anchored to the world itself. He did not know what was coming, but he felt it. A surge of suffering to tear not just the insignificant physical world, but one that rippled upon the waves of the eternal force.


 

With this fresh in mind, and never one to jump brashly, Frond finally knew what it was he had to do. So, that night, when the sun had set, the aged seer transformed once again. Only this time, he did not shuffle through the streets leaving gifts. No, this time, Frond directed himself towards the Rebel and Jedi bade that occupied this world. If such a force was coming so as to tear at the very fabrics of truth, he would do what was needed of him. Frond was no longer a Jedi, in truth, he really never truly was; and yet, it was to the Jedi that he would go, would they have him. The people he had taken to looming after would need him in a way more tangible than ever. He would see to it that he was there for them. 

 

XQ19Jfm.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 weeks later...

Sitting atop the cockpit of the Bleached Mynock, Scorpio gazed toward the rising sun coming around Nal Hutta as he chewed upon the Maraffa twig that sat upon his lips. It didn't feel so long ago that he was last here with members of the Luka Sene and Armiena's Mother and Padawan in tow. And yet, even if it hadn't been as long as it was, so many things had changed. Alpheridies was a distant memory, the loss of Railyn's mother still an echo within his heart. And thanks to Anakin, his soul was whole again, no longer a puppet of the Spider's web. Shifting his gaze through the glass below, he spied Railyn shifting in the seat next to the controls as he watched her attentively to see if she was waking, but saw no affirmation. So he continued chewing upon the supple sap from within the twig.

 

Sleep was a luxury he rarely experienced lately, too many memories that prayed upon his mind. He remembered his death at Onderon, he knew the vile things he had partook in as a shambled corpse under the Spider, and then there was the memories of Anakin that played their part. His darker half searching for a way to bind them back together, his life without his ability to touch the Force, the love he had developed for Delilah and the pain of losing her and the pride he felt as a father. But as Scorpio, being whole again, there was awkward moments where even the slightest of feelings felt so false. Even as he checked his daughter out of love, it sometimes felt that it was not his own. He even thought of leaving the girl on Alpheridies with her kind, but could not bare to part with her. It was a strange feeling to say the least.

 

And then there was they're departure from Alpheridies and the Luka Sene, as bittersweet as it was. Scorpio had always been a Jedi, had always faced Wars and Struggles for the sake of others. And Anakin, though worked well in groups and could lay roots, had always been a Sith at heart. Even as he sought to restore him and Scorpio, deep down he also sought to usurp the Miralukians of Alpheridies through the Luka Sene. Scorpio could not, in good conscious, remain after. So he instead chose to travel a pilgrim's path across the Galaxy, to understand what Damon had actually created in them and what it meant within the Force. 

 

And here he was at Nar Shadaa, the once vibrant hive of villainy and scum, a place where for millenia, Jedi often sought to disappear and understand their purpose behind it and how they managed to achieve such a goal. Opening his mind completely to the Flow of the Force, he traveled upon its natural course across the cityscape and beneath, feeling the overbearing noise of life packed so tightly within it's atmosphere. And as he did, familiar and new presences surrounded his own as he traveled the globe telepathically. He opened his eyes as Railyn began to cry. Tossing the Maraffa Twig aside, he slide down the face of the cockpit with a sturdy landing, before he ran up the ramp inside. Finding her still asleep, he smirked. Night terrors were a commonplace for someone of her age, and despite his inability to connect with this child, he was quick to rush to her side.

 

Walking back outside, he gazed toward the east where he felt the familiar presences within the confines of the Imperial Headquarters. Just perhaps, he may pop in his head, if only to see old faces and some new.

  • Like 1

 

scorpio.png.f3af7b38a7a0c45d85e8fcaea6d40d45.pngScorpio Armegedon

You heard it too, didn't you? The Insatiable Hunger of the Saber.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 weeks later...

Frond took a seemingly meandering but decidedly direct path out of the Rebel stronghold and back into the city at large. There, he was just another of the meandering masses, albeit an odd one. He moved as one with little purpose but the grand mysterious guidance of someone or something unseen; and yet, Frond knew where he was going. Turning left, then right, then left again, he continued on, sure of his own path. He came to what seemed to be a trash-strewn alleyway that curved into shadow. Shuffling down it, Frond reached an askew manhole cover. Kicking it aside, the tree being’s body writhed and shifted as he fit his hefty frame down into the stinking sewers below.

 

Even here, one was not entirely sure of being alone. Criminals roved these underground highways of filth, even here. The old ways lived on in shadow.

 

Frond waded waist deep through the stink and filth. It did not bother him. His body relished in the nourishment contained within. Frond moved until he found a ledge deeper in. He pulled himself up on it, clear of the muck, and into the thin rays of broken light that shone down from a small drainage grate above.

 

Reaching into his opening knothole, Frond removed the smooth wooden case. He felt it’s weight in his tangled hand. The protective layer inside contained the force powers of the dark tools within.

 

In one hand, Frond held the holocron, in the other, the case of darkmetal sabers and mask. With a sigh that ruffled his leaves, Frond set the holocron before him. He needed a lightsaber. Maybe these would fit the bill, tinged as they were. Holding the case in both hands, the Neti gingerly opened the lid.

 

He felt the glow of dark energy wash over him like a warm wind. A familiar old friend that greeted him with warmth. A warmth that brought a smile to Frond’s face. He was wiser this time. He would overcome. These weapons were merely saturated in darkness, his last one had been formed from it without  blemish or watering down.

 

Setting the open case down beside the holocron, Frond reached for the duo of matching hilts. His viney fingers encircled the weapons. They were cold to his touch, sapping the heat and energy from his palms. Frond inhaled sharply at the draw of energy before he lifted the hilts and activated the blades. Immediately a pair of crimson beams speared into the heavy dark air and Frond’s face twisted as the darkmetal blades’ draw increased tenfold. Frond opened his mind to the force, pulling it from around him to feed the call of the blades. They cried for destruction and Frond wanted to give in to their desires. He reached out, his mind touching the life forces of the small creatures that filled these sewers, he drew from their power, feeding it through his viney wooden limbs. He felt alive, young, and ready for anything.

XQ19Jfm.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

 Share

×
×
  • Create New...