Jump to content

Nar Shaddaa - Rebel Alliance Headquarters


Raven Nasra

Recommended Posts

“Some of our Jedi helped the Imperials take this place from the Hutts too Admiral. We can be pretty effective even without a lifetime oath to an Empress.” Well one Jedi, and the very Jedi that had been assigned this new apprentice at that. The young man would be lucky to have such a Master, someone who had forseen the looming Sith Invasion for what it was nearly a year before the Galactic Alliance began their scramble to rearm. Brittany herself had only been in the Hesperidium flight academy at the time and like many young Jedi, she had daydreamed about helping the Imperials in their anti-sith crusade. But now that she was helping them a part of her, perhaps a selfish part, wanted desperately for the peace of her youth. 

 

She smiled back at the Admiral. And gave a deep bow. “I will let Master Kil know when she returns. Thank You Admiral.” 

 

She extended her arm to indicate that the apprentice was to walk in front of her as the two of them turned away and began to head further into the confines of the Citadel. 

 

“So Apprentice…” The Jedi Ace gave the young man a wry smile. “For now, Tell me of your training on Felucia and your own background as we walk to the mess hall. Food is free here for you, so why not grab a bite to eat while we await your new master?” 

______________________________________

tallie-(1).png.d32ee0ca3ffe297627be4ad74175cb05.png

  • Like 1
tvWz5an.png
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Her words meant a lot to him, but he was still working on believing them himself. "Well, there's no need to beat yourself up over nothing is all. Our lives have been rough, every single member of our family. Adding onto that pile can lead to some very dark places." His thoughts instinctively locked into a mental blocking pattern as he knew he wouldn't be able to help thinking about his past struggles with the dark. But again, that was just something else she didn't need on her plate. "Let's go home." His mind did brush Misal's intentionally for a moment, implanting a long overdue thank you...for all the crazy shit you do for me.

fuckmeIwannastop.png.f6b3c407fbf3e64619d8058b21303934.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The unsightly twi’lek oogled unabashedly towards the fit clones. What went through her mind was known to no one but her; but most assuredly it was sickening, inappropriate, and more likely than not illegal in twelve or more systems.  Frond rolled his eyes as he leaned against the rickety counter. Humanoid as he was, Frond’s weight was deceptively heavy. The counter creaked menacingly threatening to break any time.

 

Internally, the Neti was as foreign from the majority of unique species roaming the world as he was on the outside. Where most organic being were filled with blood and organs, the Mind Walker was composed of sinewy cellulose-lined  grains of cells that were practically identical. Each carried the code of the species. Each acted in accordance with the greater will of Frond as a whole. Tucked within Frond’s form, the wooden grains flowed around several objects he had secured there; the least of which was not the trio of lightsaber hilts and a large glittering corusca gem that could purchase an entire coty block on the most exotic worlds across the known galaxy. Like a sail under power, working silently without drawing attention to itself, Frond’s body had begun to dissect one of the Sith blades, gingerly extracting the blood crystal. Where it touched his fibrosis form, the wood began to dry and rot immediately.

 

So as the arms dealer/fence began to question payment methods, she was somewhat disappointed when Frond managed to procure the glittering blood red gem in his hand. He held his palm out to the woman, her eyes enlarging with greed as she snapped the crystal up in her own greasy fingers, holding it up to the light to regard it before tucking it within the shadows of her heavy bossom.

 

All this occurred before the clones had managed to round the corner to gather their newest toys. So when the clones hefted their picks on the counter, she turned her hungry eyes to them once again. “Whatcha boys got there? I’ll need an itemized list.” She slid a grimey notepad and pen across the counter. As for pay,” she shot a sidelong glance at Frond who had shuffled back from the counter and was watching the entire exchange with the awe of a child, “looks like you’re already covered, provided you boys didn’t take my ‘ruptors or, wanted some extra company . . . that’ll be worth the extra cost.” She kicked her lips trying to appear seductive.

 

Once their transaction was complete, Frond led the group back out to the street, walking directly through the middle of the pulsating music, flashing lights and other appendages, and overall din of debauchery. The armory vanished back into the walls as they left, as if it had never been.

 

Outside, Frond turned to smile at the group of clones, “Life in the jungles, living, dying, thriving through, the force binds as one.” Looking up towards the sky, Frond exhaled deeply. The black leafy cloak that covered his body shivered as if rustled by an invisible wind. He looked to the troopers, a fatherly warmth and compassion gleaming through before he patted where a normal being’s stomach would be. “Food.”
 

 

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

“Hmm. Mine… has had a great deal of rage and fear. Acceptance required a great deal of patience and purpose, a very accepting teacher who was unafraid of my unproductive moments.” Misal nodded and limped along, feeling a wholesome numbness beginning to quiet the complaints of her overexerted, recently-healed hip. Her limp lost some of its heaviness–indeed, it became an affected rhythm–but she glanced over to the young Jedi Master and offered a patient smile.

 

“My dear, you are attempting to heal time.” The next leg of their return to the headquarters required a descent down that ladder towards the “ground-level” of the tunnels. In spite of Misal’s polite rebuff of the Jedi’s attempt at field-Healing, the strain of climbing through the darkness was significantly lessened by the soporific effects of Sarna’s efforts. Even the drop from the bottom rung went without complaint, even if the ancient Miraluka took the impact with considerably more deliberation than the two younger Force-Users. The infiltrator straightened with significant care, her gaze passing over the ruin of their arachnoid stalker to the sound of a familiar voice that echoed indistinctly down the tunnels.

 

The bisected corpse of the creature that had attempted to hunt Sarna and the elder Draygo was a pitiful sight, of blanched exoskeleton, blindness-bleached compound eyes, and oozing hemolymph that stung the nostrils with an acrid odor. There was a faint hiss as something catalytic within its bodily fluids reacted with the rusted rails under its corpse. Misal took one wiff of the fumes and evidently blanched, clinging more closely to Sarna’s support.

 

Bright white lights could be seen in the distance, casting a ghostly glow over the turbolifts that they had used to leave the Red and Black. Under this night-lights of the temporary encampment, the Jedi Grandmaster was rushing to greet the returning squadrons of Imperial Scout troopers, retrieving miniature datachips of sensor data from their reconnaissance missions of the tunnels. Even over the whine of idling repulsorlift engines, she could be heard clearly from the echoes against the walls: “...Mern Seven and Eight still haven’t reported in… have to make do with this, I’ll start the evacuation. Check on their position, I’ll be right behind you.”

 

drayyy.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Tilt smiled and gave a playful wink, careful to keep his close distance to just that, close. Not touching, not breath to breath, when Tilt grabbed the paper and pen he and Riggs and Thumper were counting everything that they'd collected. Most of it was junk, however a good portion were broken weapons or simply equipment in disrepair, but much of the collection of items were of course going to be used for repairing the armor and weapons the boys had. Their bickering and agreements ended in a few minutes when Tilt returned the list that could have set up the Twi'lek hag for quite some time. The Clones we're surprised that she said it was already covered, and that was before Tilt stopped and saw a certain symbol on a piece of broken plating from an armor piece; a Mythosaur skull insignia on an iron plate, worthless junk unless he was going to make a shiv out of it. 

 

Staring at it for a moment, something resonated in Tilt, something that urged him to remember a time and a place he'd seen it. It was Mandalorian by nature he knew that, but of whom he didn't know, just that there was a sense of nostalgia when he threw the small piece into a box with other belongings. Upon saying their forced friendly goodbyes the Clones left the room with Tilt having slid his helmet back on, thankful they didn't have to stick around. Riggs made a comment just outside the club carrying the heaviest of the chest like boxes of how the shop owner was an, "Interesting gal," And by the time of his voice it wasn't any form of compliment. Though they couldn't comain, they literally had the four boxes and several bags of items for free. 

 

Finally when Frond made his comment something struck Tilt as he realized his arms were growing heavier, "Yeah- Hold that thought, big guy. We gotta drop this stuff off." 

 

Traveling back through the alleyways, the Clones soon found the same old blacksmith they came across, albeit this time in minutes rather than the long trek they partook. They then dropped the equipment off and would follow Frond to wherever he was going to take them. The boys spoke constantly on their way, keeping the Neti occupied with interesting thoughts and ideals they produced. Of the many subjects were the workshop, turning it into something of a home to actually live and work in instead of being grounded to a starship. Their lives were spent wherever the Grand Republic needed more Ark Troopers, especially those of the Bad Company whose job was to hit the enemy before the main legions arrived shortly, allowing an easier assault and sweep of the AO. It was high time the Clones stopped living in ships and more on ground, however the three knew they'd need to work with the Imperial Remnant and Rebellion, and the Jedi of course all to earn a good living. Mo ey makes the world go 'round, as Riggs says. 

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Frond followed along with the clones until they arrived back at the abandoned blacksmith’s forge where they had burned the body of the clones’ force using Jensaarai comrade. After their gear was stowed, Frond shuffled along with the young clones until they came across an eclectic food truck. It’s wafts of foreign food smells was almost overwhelming. Delicious.

 

Gesturing to the food truck, Frond silently invited the men to eat as he moved to a duracrete waist-high fence where he sat and declined; inclining his head up towards the sun. The warm light shone down and Frond relished the warm life-giving energies, closing his eyes until the men had their food.

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

The Dartiss-5 Caraval, Sour Sensation, had been commandeered by Imperial forces to assist in the evacuation of the people of Nar Shaddaa. From hauling cargo and bits of smuggling, the craft, and her owner, had found themselves in impound after the liberation of Outer Heaven. Now the ship had found a new sense of purpose, her previous owner, bot so much. The once-Captain Jevilinious Q. Crothl remained in lockup in charges of piracy, smuggling, and aiding in the enslavement of smuggling innocents. Piloted now by highly trained Imperial Naval staff, the ships boarding ramp was carefully lowered to an exposed walkway as the kept the craft steady in the gusting crosswinds. 
 

In an apartment complex down the street, Imperial troops from all ranks and branches were assisting in evacuations. It was where we found the four members of the Trill Scout Squadron. Two to a door, their visors withdrawn into their scout helmets to present a slightly friendlier visage. 

 

“Still not sure why we can’t just put it over comms,” Christoph grumbled as he beat a closed fist on a rickety door.

 

”You heard command. Some of these people do not have access to a comm unit,” Steve replied with a somber look across his Chiss face. “We want to make sure we get everyone.”

 

”Yeah, yeah,” Christoph sighed almost sarcastically. “So use the ship speakers and roll tumblers down the street so everyone can here it.”

 

Steve canted his head to give his fellow a dour look. Before he could respond the door swung open and a bedraggled Duro woman answered the door, a baby on each hip and two more clinging to her legs peering frightfully between them.

 

”Beg parson ma’am,” Christoph smiled, “We’re with the Empire, Scout Corps, we’ve been tasked with helping to evacuate this sector. Berths have been secured in orbit. PFC Steve here,” he clapped his fellow scout on the shoulder, “and I are here to help you gather essentials and get you to safety asap.” Steve simply offered a serious look and a solitary nod.

 

The woman, somewhat bewildered, backed up to allow the duo inside, “I . . . I had heard that the Rebellion was spacing non-essential residents. We’ve packed a few things, but our whole lives are here.”

 

————————

 

Down the hall, a similar scene was playing out with the two senior ranked members of the Squad. Only the response they got was less pleasant. The rather intoxicated elderly man and his wife were all too willing to argue about the fact that they had been here before the Empire and they’d be damned if the Empire was going to walk in and tell them how to live. 
 

Taking the tongue lashing Benjamin and Ragnar stood stoically, doing their best to preserve the seriousness of the situation and not break into smiles at the absurdness of the whole thing. When a break in the rant finally presented itself, the duo reiterated the evacuation orders. Benjamin, taking longer to try and explain without breaching operational security, finally stopped after the drunk interrupted for a fourth time. “Alright man, I hear you.” Benjamin spoke over the man. “Here is a pamphlet explaining the evacuation,” he held up a single page durasheet as he pointed to a comm code at the bottom. “Evacuation Command can be reached here if you change your mind.”

 

Benjamin stepped back and offered a side glance to Rags as he gave an affirming nod. The door slammed in their face. “Well then,” he added in response.

 

”Guess they wanna fry.” Rags added with a shrug and an only half concealed smile as he pulled the back off a large sticker with a red X on a black and yellow backdrop. He slapped it on the wall next to the door signaling that the occupants had refused evac. “On to the next one then.”

 

The whole ordeal was tedious and less than adventurous. It was something that needed to be done and as much as Trill Squadron were a bunch of cowboys, orders were orders.

 

On to the next set of doors not marked as evac’d or refused and not being contacted by any one of dozens of Imperial teams. Christoph abd Steve helped tote several bags out to the transport each carrying a giggling child on their back. Even in such a dour situation, Christoph did his best to find the fun in it. Steve kept his opinion to himself even though he felt demeaned. 

  • Like 1

Trill_Scout_Squadron.jpg

Benjamin Wood

Ragnar Kran
Christoph Sokol

Krilst’eve’nuruodo

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

After moments of traveling came the sweet and exotic aromas of the food vendor. The group was beckoned, and for the time being they truly feasted like no other. MREs and rationed military meals were nothing compared to real food, and as one Riggs stated that this was far better than jerky. The food was perfectly seasoned, cooked to crisp juiciness from the meat, and of course the Clones bickered and chatted whilst they ate. For this moment one could see the young men were more brothers from a bygone era, at a time when the Sith still presented a grave danger but using another enemy, the CIS and the Death Watch, as their choice of puppets. But for this moment the boys seemed content and actually dropped their soldier attitudes, they were relaxed, casual, something none of them felt in so many years. 

 

The Bad Company were always on the move, rest was a luxury and despite their tired states way back when they produced little casualties. The hundred men who made up the ranks were whittled down to seventy, but the fateful day just before the big order was given only three of the company survived. And the Bad Company was remembered by a great deal of Clone Legions as legends for their work and hard determination, literally fighting till the last man. And yet here stood the three survivors, no doubt the memories of the Grand Republic Army lingered in the backs of their heads, for now they were but friends, brothers and comrades enjoying another day of just life. Moments like this were rare, and should always be treasured no matter how short or small. 

 

By the time they were done, they had paid for the meals and returned to Frond. Tilt still had his helmet, clasped between his firearm and side and said, "Thank you for everything you've done for us. Listen- If there is ever a time you need us, just have someone send for us and we'll be there as soon as possible. Ordnance, food, and a respectful goodbye to a friend is what you gave us, and you asked for no payment in return. Thank you, Frond, for everything you've done for us." 

 

Tilts sincere and genuine gratitude was something rarely seen, but it was ruined by Riggs, "What, you gonna kiss him now?" 

 

"Right…" Tilt shot a glare to his brother before turning back to the Neti, "We should probably get going, I think that Kolchak character is waiting for us. Take care of that saber you have, and…" Tilt had to stop for a moment before saying, "And may the Force be with you." 

 

The Clone trio had left the Neti, Frond, and in pursuit of the next goal at hand. Full, fully awake, and already having an interesting day, the boys were ready to face the newest challenge. That was until Thumper took a hard right and entered back at the alleyway with the Blacksmith. Without a word the other two followed and entered the old and grimy building, Thumper locked the door behind them and they started to unload the equipment. After sliding broken droid parts off a long holotable in the center of the shop, they began setting pieces onto the steel and thick glass furniture. 

 

"So, I guess we uh… Start on the armor?" Riggs asked looking over his chest plate he took off, revealing a torn and tattered tight suit beneath. 

 

"No," Thumper interjects, "Weapons, that's just as important if not more." 

 

"Yeah but-" Riggs starts until he accidentally pressed his holstered blaster against a button on the holotable. 

 

At first it was a slight buzzing, and then one after the other lights flickered on throughout the shop to reveal how truly disgusting it was. The forge was rekindled as were the smelter and various pieces of equipment used for a real workshop. There were a series of noises that were random or that fit with the gadgets that came from them, however that wasn't the issue. The issue was a rusted Destroyer Droid that was powering up, and once it made a beep it raised its gun arms toward the Clones. Immediately the three found cover and started to aim at the droid until something crashed fully into Tilt, knocking him from his place behind a shelf. The Droideka turned to face the man, and just when his life was about to end… It didn't. 

 

All of a sudden there was the artificial time of a throat clearing, and when the tree Clones turned their heads toward a lowering stairwell they saw a K-2SO droid, gray and rusted from years of neglect, standing and scanning the three individuals. With a deep, almost nasally tone, it spoke in a depressive manner, "Please don't damage Gregory, he's not exactly cheap to repair." 

 

The Clones looked at each other until Riggs said, "That thing has a name?!" 

 

"Yes, as do you, you bloody bloke," The K-2SO unit walked around the shelf and offered the fallen Tilt a hand, craning downward to reach him, "I am Model Number three- double oh- nineteen, or as many call me Watcher. I keep the invention, track investments and taxes, as well as document all forms of business we tend to attract. Gregory is our bouncer so to say, he has a nasty trigger finger so please refrain from violent actions." 

 

Tilt stared for a moment not certain what to do. His black and stained visor reflected the droid's glowing eyes, and finally he took the hand. The droid, Watcher, easily hefted the Clone upward as his weight was seemingly nothing. Then from out behind the shelf came rolling an old R5 Astrodroid who was chirping up a storm. Clearly this was annoying Watcher as he was focused on pressing a series of buttons on a terminal which had booted up behind a cashier's counter. Behind the counter were an assortment of weapons, clearly old and worn hung in the wall, the variety was clearly there. And clearly junk. 

 

"Reff is trying to coax Gregory into shooting you, which won't happen if you three behave yourselves like good boys. And for the love of god please keep your weapons in your pockets, I don't want to clean up a mess." Watcher says looking toward the stairwell. 

 

There was a loud thumping omg the stairs like something heavy climbing up the stairs. That was when a heavily rebuilt Super Battle Droid slowly made its way up, starting with the head bobbing up and down the slow but steady incline. The Clones started to grow nervous when the fourth droid started to walk toward them, and while reaching for a weapon was feasible there was also the Destroyer, "Gregory," Watching the group. They were trapped, hoping that these CIS droids weren't the same control as the many more they had fought. It was hard to not pull out blasters and start tearing away at the old hunks of metal. 

 

"Hwhat is the meaning of this, Watchur?!" The Super Battle Droid exclaimed in a cool and heavy country accent, "I was enjoyin' a good nap til' ya woke me up! You know I don't keep a good charge fer long!"

 

"Quick your whining you thick armed wanker, we have stowaways." Watcher replies.

 

"Huh? Squatters? Let ol' Gregory take care of 'em!" 

 

"Okay, wait," Tilt says aloud, catching everyone's attention, "What the hell is going on here? You're combat droids, you shouldn't be able to… Act like this!"

 

"Unfortunately our original buyer and master modified us to be unique in some sense. Reff is our engineer and overall electrician, Gregory is our protector, and this is Anvil our smithy. According to the terminal's records it has been…" Watcher goes silent until speaking again, this time more in question than a statement, "Eighty three years, five months, and fifteen days since our last activation. The Hutts had sent a bounty upon our master for dealing them wrong. Nearly eight hundred thousand credits worth of spice was sold to the wrong buyer on purpose, and so they were done away with. Since then we haven't been active. Now that just leaves you three meat sacks, why are you here exactly?" 

 

Tilt was the first one to speak, although he found it odd talking to a droid, "We were going to repair our equipment and then you were turned on by mistake." 

 

Immediately Anvil popped in, "Equipment, like armor?! Hell, I can fix just about anything! What'cha needin'?" 

 

"No we're not-" Watcher starts but was cut off by Anvil. 

 

"Scanning complete! And-" A low whistle escaped the voice box of the smithy, "Phase II Clone Trooper Armor huh? You, in the center, ya got that fancy Paratrooper Armor while the one of the right has a heavier support armor, and the other one's gotta unique grenadier gear. Classic. Give me 'bout thirty minutes to fix 'em up. Reff can set you up with color templates and weapons repair." 

 

"No, no we are not-" Watcher was interrupted by Reff's chirping as the little droid brought over a holopad for the color template of the armor. 

 

"Oh, uh, thank you?" Tilt replies confused by how fast the situation was moving, placing his gear on a nearby table next to the forge. 

 

The Clones started to converse between themselves until finally settling upon the signature colors and design of the armors, the latter being a surprise to either of them. Handing back the holopad the Astrodroid chirped pleasantly when it started to upload the information to the armor station and Anvil. Almost immediately Reff started to pull resources from the shop that were on shelves, in boxes or whatever the Clones had pulled from the black market. Again, another low whistle escaped Anvil when he started to work with the metals and formation of the armor, "It ain't Beskarr, but you fellas must git some serious money, while it's not a lot I'm infusing the Durasteel you got between the three sets. Should make yer armor a little tougher." 

 

With a sigh as Reff and Anvil we're starting to get into mid-throw of their operation, Watcher turned to the men, "Our system isn't updated due to… Circumstances. I cannot charge you in the reasonable sense of credits, so manual labor is the only viable option. If you can help at least sweep up this mess on the floor that should suffice, granted, I should have you clean the whole shop. I suppose sweeping and picking up parts will suffice. You have twenty eight minutes and forty seconds, get to it." 

 

Riggs complained a lot, getting grime all over his hands and body, however Tilt and Thumper ignored the drama queen and focused on cleaning. The thirty minutes turned into forty it seemed, the more they did the longer it took, and after a good hour of work the Clones were completely filthy. They were directed to a private shower the ship droids old "master" used as he practically lived here, and so the boys took their turns getting cleaned. By the time Tilt was done, he walked up the stairs and saw the equipment on full display on the holotable. He was amazed by the work, the dark gray armor had recolored orange stripes all along the full suit. The burnt orange outlines of the armor helped it be contrast to what he's used to seeing, the symbols, the colors and styles were all there as he wanted. As they wanted. 

 

The Clones slid their armor on, it was a perfect fit, snug but not choking tight. There was a special holster or rather a hilt for Tilt's lightsaber, and he also noticed the extra armaments built into his gauntlets. He played with the right gauntlet and a wrist laser popped up, and after putting it away the left gauntlet revealed a plasma shield. Or parma, however he wasn't one to judge on what people refer to the types of shields these days. Tilt skid on his helmet and he could feel the clean air rush in as he inhaled, and when he exhaled there was no after breath nor any fogging on the inside of his visor; which was completely clean with no cracks at all. Tilt stood in front of a stained mirror looking himself over, amazed that he looked like a real trooper just like back in the day. He felt official in the sense that he looked just like an Ark Trooper, and even his mama donned the marks of his old allegiances to both the Grand Republic and the Bad Company. 

 

"Ya like it?" Anvil.asked almost as if hoping for a good answer. 

 

"This…" Tilt looked over to Riggs and Thumper who had on their own armor as well, "This… This is wonderful! Slightly heavier from the infused metals, yes? I don't think I've been in anything this sleek since I became an Ark Trooper! Thank you so much for-" 

 

"Ahh don't mention it! It's been years since I worked tha ol' gears, so I'm happy to help!" Anvil replies sounding satisfied. 

 

"Now if you wouldn't mind, I would like to get this place cleaned up. It's going to take a miracle if it can get back into working order in a week!" Watcher replies more irritably if anything, "We have to find a new vendor to take over the blacksmith, the last thing we need is for this to be a hub for ketamine addicts. It's run down as it is."  

 

Thumper looks at Tilt and whispers something to him, but openly says, "Well I mean, we could take you up on that. With what you did with our equipment is amazing to boot, and with us being in the military we can certainly provide credits for supplies and such."

 

"You're not suggesting-" 

 

Reff chirps violently at Anvil and then at Watcher. A moment of silence and processing passes and the K-2SO sighs in defeat. He starts to type in more keys into the terminal before him, unbeknownst to the trio of brothers that the droid was updating the registry for the shop. The information he typed in was of course for taxes, tax exemptions, business ledgers, contacts, and much more. He slid a holopad across the counter and said, "Full name, occupation, birth date… Just fill out the damn information."

 

Edited by Tilt07
  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

“Oh! Here you are!” An all too familiar cheerful voice called out as a smiling face popped into the doorway. The engineer who had been working on the clones ship had somehow managed to find them. “Walking tree told me you were . . . “ the woman’s voice trailed off as she registered the slew of combat droids active in the room with the freshly minted clones. She had seen the holovids. She knew what was gonna happen next.

 

”Aaaawwwww yeah!” She howled in excitement as she pulled her standard issued Imperial sidearm and crouched near the door taking aim at the nearest bot, cracking off a single round. “Come get some!” Shooting a glance to the troopers aithout completely registering much beyond their upgraded duty gear she shouted, “I got you covered boys!”

kol2.png.1d12933059e161bb1d4824942dd151d8.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Alcmène, felt her eyebrows  creep up in an arch of surprise. She instinctively gave the newcomer a curtsy of the Outremer style. Keeping one hand on the hilt of her saber, taking one step back and bowing with a sweep of her arm. 

 

“He is most welcome of course. That is…” She winked, “...If he can keep up.” 

 

She gestured to the cargobay of the red shuttle. “Stow your equipment, luckily we have four bunks so choose one and join us in the cockpit.” 

 

She grinned at Vox, then climbed up the ramp and began the shuttle startup sequence. 

 

((Post on Yavin our arrival))

  • Like 1

14365472_Alcmne.png.bfda32e929e4ce0bf873f82d453f414b.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

As soon as Tilt finished the registration which only took minutes to complete, then Watcher started to upload something to the terminal. While that happened both Anvil and Reff were busy cleaning up the place with what the Astrodroid using a laser device to destroy grime and rust across the shop. Anvil was starting to dust the shelves and even took scrap metals, analyzing them, and dumping the worthless junk into the forge's smelter. The Super Droid made a comment about how repairs weren't cheap at, and sometimes they needed to sacrifice product to keep functioning. Thumper was about to say something until he was quickly cut off by Watcher. 

 

"Registration is finished and finalized.  Congratulations, new owner, you are officially exempt from most taxes and have a new supply of equipment heading your way due in approximately ten days and three hours. You can review your business partners and inventory once we finish this place." 

 

"Wait, just like that? I figured it'd cost and arm and leg." Tilt commented in a surprised manner. 

 

"Of course, this is Nar Shaddaa, not Corellia, Naboo or Corellia. I am quite capable of pulling strings and make these things go through without anyone noticing. The only thing these people care about is collecting their tax money. Now that that's out of the way, I can tell you about the current inven-" 

 

"Aaaawwwww yeah!" A Zabrak pulled a weapon and started to fire, the energy bolt grazed Watchers left shoulder guard. Gregory was starting to boot up again, however upon raising it's two main guns another set unfolded from beneath the first, and once it split rotary barrels spun rapidly aimed at the engineer. 

 

"No no wait! She's with us!" Tilt jumped in front of the Destroyer as it was about to pump the poor woman full of energy, "She just didn't know what was going on is all!" 

 

Another sigh escaped Watcher as he looked on and said, "If she is here to disrupt our business I suppose we can talk of it later on then. Whenever you come in next shall suffice." 

 

"Right, right- thanks again. We'll be back soon," Tilt replies almost apologetically, and the turned to the Zabrak engineer, "Alright, so why are you looking for us? Done with the ship?"

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

“Mand’alor, you must prepare…”

 

The rasping scraping of a knife skittered across her skin, shaving a slice of skin free from her left shoulder. Eyes closed; she felt rather than saw the warmth of blood spreading down the trailing scars ran through her ribs. Another cut, and a flare of pain arose from her right shoulder. More warmth. Callused fingers daubed at the blood, mixing with it a foul-smelling mix of river-mud and ash. Their touch was cool against her naked flesh.

 

Lifeblood of the Leader. Lifeblood of the River. Burnt offerings to stave off the wrath of the gods. The omens must have been dark tonight.

 

Terra opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh firelight. The drums were pounding a harsh rhythm, a counter to the constant sound of the city of rust. The priests droned in their chants, echoed by the soldiers that surrounded them all. Clanging clattering roars of Bes'uliik interspersed with the pounding of feet.

 

Mand’alor the Bloody climbed to her feet, naked in the firelight, clothed in nothing but omens and symbols. A chalice of rough-hewn stone found her hands, and she stared at the murky, dark water. A cordial of blood, water from the Kelita, bonemeal, and the crushed essence of henbane.

 

It was noxious on her lips, burning her tongue and coating her throat with the tingling of capsaicin and the rot of henbane. The fire began to dance before her, taking the shapes of war. Foretelling Kad Ha’rangir’s will. Throwing her head back, she let out a howling yell to shake the god of war from his slumber, and the rest joined into a raucous shouts like they were the embodies Karwelfs and Sherik’s of night.

 

Bersærkergang

  • Like 2

Terra

To the Death...

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Her eyes never left his face as he spoke the calming words that were everything she needed to hear. She reached up her hand and pulled the black cap off her head, letting the shoulder length hair drop out of its pins. She let the cap fall to the table and then brought her hands to one of his, which was resting on her thin shoulder. She lifted it up, marveling at its size and strength as she intertwined her fingers with his. A sad smile crossed her lips and she looked down at her dress uniform in all its imperial stylings. She knew he thought it a mask. Something to deceive him or the galaxy from seeing the true her. But what if it was all that she was?

 

“I don’t think I know who I am under this...” 

 

She had been working, training, fighting, leading, and commanding since her teenage years. And before that a slave to a Sith Lord. What was she? What if she looked and found nothing under all the pomp and ceremony?  What if she found that same wretched and evil person that she had been all those years ago? She lifted his hand up and placed its palm against her cheek. Feeling its warmth, its love. What if she couldn’t lead this alliance to victory? What if she doomed them all? What of the untold billions that lay in shallow graves because of the mistakes she had led? But the warmth of his hands stilled those fears. The touch of his mind on hers brought her joy, and through the tears she smiled. She let him see everything of her, her past, her hopes and dreams.  

 

“...But will you love me anyway?" 

  • Like 1

Raven_3_Sig.png.fa6e284bec4ff42ba02901e8567b2f87.png

Pretender to the Galactic Throne

Leader of the Rebel Alliance

Link to comment
Share on other sites

As the engineer dove in front of the droideka, the engineer’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “What is going on here?” She asked as she slowly stood up. Her gun lowered, although she kept it angled towards the droids. Stepping inside, she made sure that there was always some sort of cover between she and the droids.

 

As Tilt addressed her, the zabrak fished the keys to their craft from her chest pocket and jangled them. “All done. Paint job too. Looked like someone had already prison broke the thing once before. Shoddy Sith engineering if you ask me.” Slapping the keys on the wooden workbench, the zabrak’s eyes did not leave the droid even as she chanced a glance to Tilt. “The Admiral said that when I found you that you’re late and he’ll be waiting for ya.”

 

”Good luck.” She smiled as she slipped out the door and out of sight down the alley.


——————————-

 

The Mantis had been docked alongside Kolchak’s Lambda Shuttle. A dozen white clad storm troopers stood watch as the Admiral stood admiring the craft. His mechanized eye whirred and clicked as it took in the design and uniqueness

of the ship. 

Edited by Nikolai Kolchak
  • Like 1

kol2.png.1d12933059e161bb1d4824942dd151d8.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The violence in their drumbeat hammered against her lungs. The warriors of iron danced before their fires in a ritual almost as old as humanity itself. The age of shamans, axes, and the ships that sailed the single sea. The age of magic, bones, and a single tree whose roots wrapped the galaxy. Faeries, prophecy and the Bersærkergang
 

She shuddered to watch it. A mix of fascination and gleeful dread. These were the same Mandalorians that had presaged the fall of Coruscant and had drawn a line of blood and ash across the core worlds. But still the drum beat hammered relentlessly on her eardrums, reverberating in every breath she took. Even from her hidden vantage meters away from the mass of celebrating Mandalorians. 

 

They danced the dance of death. A wild and loving thing. A warrior culture that held nothing so close but that bitter blood and screaming fate. She wished that she could join them and from her vantage she pulled back her hair into a tight braid, tied her shawl close about her shoulders, and made her way down towards the chanting. 

  • Like 1

namari.png.2510408bc48b537b03c729725bc5aa69.png

Queen Namari of the Naboo

Link to comment
Share on other sites

...Come away little lamb come away to the slaughter…

 

Amidst the rolling howls, beating of feet and armor, a deamon moved in shadow. The rippling heat of a thousand bodies fueled its madness. Symbols of blood were painted upon naked flesh, the bereft clans dedicating the coming war to Kad Ha’Rangir. There was such glee in it all, the shadows twisting around firelight, playing across beskar’gam, reflecting deep crimson in the night. It was chaos, yet channeled towards one goal.

 

The brotherhood of those who stand as a bulwark against a great enemy, to revel in blood and death until none remained. Each warrior knew their days were numbered, as did their leader. It was her, Mand’alor the Bloody, who stood at the heart of it all, dancing about the fyre, shrieking into the rhythmic night. Her voice cut into the drums, attuning them to her rhythm

 

“Oh you tasters of blood, you raven-winged and wolf-skinned…”

 

The dancing increased its ferocity. The stamping of feet seemed to shake the very world. The crimson, dilated eyes of the naked Mandalore, clothed in not but scars and symbols took in the cloaked figure in their midst. Her lips twisted into a smile, exposing too-dark teeth, dripping with blood

 

“Who will wade into battle and bear the broken shield and bloody spear?”

 

Rage-Howls answered, and Terra stepped into the thrashing maze to grab the girl about her waist, pressing into her hands the rough-hewn cup, whet once more with its bloody philter. A whistling cry from above and the twin jai'galaar began to circle them both. A wider smile, frantic and dripping crimson met the Queen’s eyes. Her voice held an annatural rage, as if driven by demon within

 

“And who shall destroy the Sith?”

 

Every voice broke into the cry of the jai'galaar, that shriek-hawk and symbol of Kad Ha’Rangir. The gods were with them, so spoke the omens

  • Like 3

Terra

To the Death...

Link to comment
Share on other sites

"Right, we'll get on that," Tilt replies to the Zabrak after taking the keys then turned to the droids, "Just uh... While we're gone keep the place busy... Alright?"

 

Just before Tilt and co. walked out the entrance of the Blacksmith he heard Watcher say in his depressive tone, while not sounding sarcastic at all Watcher meant it in that manner which anyone could pick up, "Oh sure, let us keep busy with all the business we've had in seventy years. We'll definitely up that profit." 

 

Tilt, Riggs, and Thumper walked down the street gaining a few glances from passerbyes that did well to steer clear. For some reason. Riggs was bragging about how they actually looked like soldiers while Thumper was contemplating testing the armor out at some point, however he also argued with himself about how they only have one set each. The main Captain however was trying to think about how this Kolchak individual would react. They were supposed to meet the man right away, however within an hour they cremated a friend, ate, cleaned a shop as payment for armor they were waiting for. Understandably he'd most likely be irate, generals and the more impatient Jedi back in the day were like that so Tilt was prepping himself for a real ass chewing. 

When they arrived at the landing pad, the Clones stopped immediately to face at the new and improved Mantis and all her glory. For the first time Tilt felt what Riggs felt when he met the Zabrak engineer, and payment of any kind at this point seemed necessary despite it being on the house. But then Tilt noticed the files of white armored troopers standing, and looking the Mantis over was a well dressed individual. Said individual, Tilt immediately realized, was a ranking officer of the navy, and then it hit him that this was Admiral Kolchak

 

"Look alive, boys," Tilt quietly said to the two Clones behind him tagging of either side. He didn't realize that his armor seemed "elite" or official at all, armor was armor, but it was most likely best they weren't garbed in makeshift scraps they originally were in. Walking up to Kolchak, just before Tilt saluted and Thumper and Riggs did so afterward in unison, he said, "Admiral Kolchak, sir. I am CT-0207, Captain Tilt of the 123rd Battalion "Bad Company." We were told to report to you, sir."

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Kolchak stood, hand in fist tucked in the small of his back, looking over The Mantis. He did not turn around when the clones approached, notified by the silent communications from his escort of veteran Imperial commandos. As the clones saluted, the Vice Admiral spoke, his voice carrying up towards the ship.

 

”Ze Corellian Ackalay type light freighter.” He described the name of the craft, reaching up to brush a piece of debris off the freshly painted aurebesh lettering. “Vourty-eight meter, vone-hundred ton cargo capazity. Nonztandard for official naval uze. Unregiztered in Imperial databazez.” He droned before finally clipping his boots together and spinning about to face the three clones. “Very appropriate vor vhat iz planned avter current emergenzy”

 

Nikolai Kolchak eyed the three, his mind-linked mechanized eye assessing and analyzing the derelict-yet-pristine fit outs. “Your viles are most imprezzive and you look vell for age.”He opted to not comment on their dated, yet like-new, armor. How had they kept it so well? Had these clones seen combat or were they fresh from the vats somewhere?

 

The admiral turned, leaning on one hand against the hull of the bulky craft. “Ze Empire exzpects zat you vill be quicker zan zhis tub. Can you do zhis? Ve have great need vor men ov your . . . . . exzperiencez in,” he rubbed his fingers of his free hand together as he paused looking for the word, “azzymetrical varfare.” Nikolai finally directed his one good biological eye to the three. “I am Vice Admiral Nikolai Kolchak, Vleet Commandant of ze Outer Rim, head of Naval Intelligence, under ze command of ze Emprezz herzelf.” He did not need to explain that he had spent his career ferreting out pirates, drug cartels, and warlords from the lawless Outer Rim. It was present in his stature, by the way he carried himself, just like his synthetic skeleton. It was a dangerous, almost criminal outlook; one contained within the confines of the uniform, and by it the rules, of the Imperial Navy. “Currently, ve are evacuating any non-essential personz to avaiting tranzportz in orbit. Intelligenze axzets have indicated pozzible Zith attack on Zhis vorld. Zector tventy-zhree iz being cleared now. Vill you azzist gentlemen? Innozent lives are at stake.” The question hung heavily on the air as Kolchak stared unblinkingly at the trio. The seriousness of the situation broadcast to the men a sharp divergence from the usual hubbub of the planet. They were back in the military.

  • Like 1

kol2.png.1d12933059e161bb1d4824942dd151d8.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

One didn't have to tell that the man standing before the trio was someone of tremendous stature. The way his tone carried combined with his appearance and general expression, Tilts first thought was that this man had blood on his hands much like soldiers akin to Tilt. The group listened to the Admiral who didn't give the normal talk of welcoming or beckoning to the Imperial Remnant and Rebel Alliance. No, Tilt could easily tell this man had something else in mind, not the space faring type of fighting but rather more ground work which he could handle. 

 

The only issue being that there was a possible Sith invasion coming to the planet of that was what the Admiral meant, transporting people to get off planet. It was a necessity, and the question hung in the air like a dead carcass from a tree. Was there really a choice? Of course not, this is was Tilt and his brothers wanted, combat and variety forms of warfare was what they strived for. As far as Tilt knew he was helping people but most likely staying to for eventual planetary warzone Nar Shaddaa would become. Truth be told, it pumped his heart at a rapid rate, it was exciting, but they weren't fighting droids this time but people with actual thoughts; a different type of prey. 

 

The Bad Company had reentered the fight against the Sith. Tilt nodded, and said, "Of course sir, it is what we're bred for," Any individual could only hear the professional tone behind the helmet but a trained man in long career of warfare could hear just the slightest tinge of anticipation, it could be the Mandalor blood of their donor which they didn't know about; it could be the chance of vengeance or perhaps a chance at becoming soldiers once more, "We'll head over there straight away. Is there anything else possibly after we are done?" 

 

Already Thumper abd Riggs had entered the Mantis when Tilt slipped then the keys. The ship fired up, slowly as it had to get acclimated to the repairs, but after a moment it purred beautifully. It was clear the boys were ready to go, and with any last words Tilt would understand the situation as a whole. He didn't take them lightly, and slowly he'd slip back into the mindset of being a soldier, a leader at that, and of course, a bonafide badass. 

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

One of the stormtroopers canted his head to better look at the trio of clones when breeding was mentioned. It was subtle and he returned to his stance in a mere moment. Could have ben nothing but a twitch; except, well, these were some of the finest the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps had to offer. Each a combat veteran, crossed trained in both espionage and counter-espionage.

 

That was it and Kolchak was slowly nodding his head. The slightest of smiles played faintly at the edges of the Admiral’s mouth. It did not reach his somber eye and his body did not reflect it. Still, when the clones asked for more, Kolchak was pleased. “Vonce zhe vork plnetside is done, report to zhe Constantine.”
 

The Admiral gestured and an aid walked rapidly, and calmly, down the ramp of Kolchak’s shuttle and offered 3 scomp links to the clones. “Plug these into your buckets and you’ll be in direct communication with the Constantine. City overviews, real time intel reports, updated orders. Less red tape.” Holding out his palm the officer held a datachip, encrypted, encoded, and equipped  with biometric securities.
 

“Take zhat chip to Corporal Kran, Zcouting Corps. He vill brief you. Ze Empire zhanks you vor your zervice gentlemen.” Kolchak offered as a cryptic method of explanation. His attitude softening only slightly as he grew more mysterious.

 

——————————————

 

In orbit far overhead between the defensive minefields and the evacuation fleet and moon a task force of Rebel-Imperial warships drifted menacingly. 
 

The SFS Immobilizer 418-class Heavy Cruiser Constantine was the most worn and battle hardened member of the fleet. The craft served as Kolchak’s mobile command station for intelligence operations. Every crewman had been vetted to the highest levels and served in their capacities as naval or Stormtrooper Corps members as well as members of Naval Intelligence. It was a spider atop a net awaiting her prey. Ringing the aft of the craft, 4 DP20 Corvettes sat like young spiders waiting to strike. The Surprise, Crescelle, Hawkbat, and Audacity, all wartorn and hardened.

 

Nearby, to the port of the Constantine, the newly minted MC80a capital ship, Tessek’s Revenge, buzzed like a hive of angry insects. All manner of fast attack craft, each equipped with advanced sensors and scanners buzzed to and from searching the nooks and crannies of the Imperial Stronghold for silent watchers and listeners.

 

The craft stood as a gleaming testament to a hero lost in the Liberation of Mon Cal; a guerilla who had fought against the Sith occupation only to die in the final charge of freedom. Crewed by experience naval officers from both Mon  Cal and the Imperial Naval Academy; Tessek’s Revenge hungered for payback.  


To Constantine’s Starboard bow floated the solitary Wailing Whaladon. Bulbous and nondescript, the ship looked to more than likely be a part of the evacuation fleet. The truth; however, was much more sinister. The ship was laden with weight and explosives. Crafted under the Sith rule of Mon Cal, the vessel waited to drive it’s weighted prow into the bridges of enemy craft. Death and destruction would be immense. In the order of battle, chaos would reign as soon as the Whaladon struck.

 

——————————————


As the bits of gear and data were accepted by the clones, Vice Admiral Nikolai Kolchak dismissed them with a crisp salute before he turned on his heel and made his way to his waiting shuttle.
 

The detachment of troopers turned to follow. All except the trooper whose attention had been caught by the clone comment. He broke from his detachment and hurried after Tilt, intercepting him just before he boarded. “Captain. From one clone to another, watch out for those scouts. They’re cowboys. Not like us.” He nodded knowingly from behind his helmet before turning to hurry back to join the others and board the shuttle. 

 

 

  • Like 1

kol2.png.1d12933059e161bb1d4824942dd151d8.png

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Tilt took the chip and gave it a look over before saluting himself, "Will do, sir." 

 

Just before Tilt could board the Mantis another trooper of Kolchaks group came rushing forward, and he turned to face the lad. Upon hearing the individuals voice, Tilt recognized his own in some sense, albeit not as gruff as the years stranded on Haruun Kal left the primary Clone. If there were more Clones from the Grand Republic then be could potentially pull them in from lower ranks and train them himself... That, or just expand the Bad Company to it's previous capacity both in numbers and quality. Tilt nodded and said just as the trooper turned, "Thanks for the heads up. Good huntin'."

 

When Tilt climbed aboard the light freighter Riggs was already in a gunners seat for one of the turret, shaking it back and forth as the ramp-like door shut behind him, Riggs shouting, "It's beautiful! The armaments, the hull is strong as hell, and I don't care if she bigger than a Hutts ass! It's even got a med station and a weapons display for repairs, this is a dream come true!" 

 

"Get down from there you immature whompus rat!" Thumper shouted from the cockpit, he was utilizing the controls in order to lift the ship off the ground, and once they did the Mantis took off a lot faster than expected. 

 

Riggs fell out off the ladder of the turret while Tilt fell against one of the seats whilst trying to make it to the front. The Mantis started to slow and after correction was on a steady but quick course toward their objective. Tilt reached the cockpit and slapped Thumper across the back of his helmet, "This isn't a speeder! Be careful, you're driving a metal death box!" 

 

After minutes the group arrived to the evac site where "Vector Twenty Three" was being cleared. There, the trio could see the people being evacuated from their homes and troopers helping them about. The Mantis lowered unto one of the emptier parts of the street with Riggs and Tilt hopping out, Thumper manning the heavy armed vessel. Once they were clear, the Mantis raised with Thumper having orders to be on standby. Tilt approached a passing stormtrooper and said, again, not caring for his sleek and "elite-like" appearance to a lower rank or whatever that may be nor did he have to hide his Clone voice, "Excuse me, soldier, we're looking for a Corporal Kran, we're to deliver something to them."

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

SECTOR 23: Mid-level Residential Division Containing Limited Retail, Highlighting Dine-In Facilities of the Mid-Rim

 

It was an organized bustle as Dartiss-5 Caraval hoovered, her landing ramp extended to the walkway. Even here a good mile off the surface, it felt just as homey as anywhere more closely earthbound. The only trick was staying away from the edge where ships could rise and ascend amongst the densely packed skyscrapers. Naval Officers, Stormtroopers, Corpsmen, and Soldiers, all manner of Imperial was on scene helping evacuate local residents, refugees, and assets. The line of those awaiting to evacuate was growing longer by the minute as evacuees arrived alone or escorted by Imperials. The line kept moving though. Each refugee was allowed a single bag. The definition of bag seemed rather loose.

 

The arrival of The Mantis elicited cheers as assumptions of another evacuation shuttle’s arrival was perceived. The disembarking clones were payed little attention. Any backup was appreciated. So when one of the Republic-era clad soldiers grabbed the shoulder of a passing Imperial Army trooper, the woman turned seeing the clones for the first time. She paused, mouth slightly agap as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. “Corporal who?” She asked harshly, as she moved to head back down the street towards the current complex they were evacuating, “Never ‘ears of’m. Try the Navy.” The trooper cradled her E-11 and hurried off after her team.

 

___________________
 

Moving towards the ever-growing line, private first class Krilst’eve’nuruodo and lance corporal Christoph Sokol helped the family into line. They deposited their bags and pulled giggling clawings children off their backs. Fishing a couple  pieces of chocolate from his pack, the Coruscanti Christoph handed them over to the kids with a smile. “Catch ya’ll on the flippity flip.” He gave them finger guns as he winked before turning around to join his much more serious Chiss counterpart. “Back to it then?”

 

The pair fell into step together heading back towards the nearest apartment building where Trill Scout Squadron was working alongside the others. 
 

“Get a load of those boys!” Christoph remarked none-too-quietly as he directed Steve’s attention to the nearby clone troopers they passed. “Betcha that is something the Gunny wore when he listed up.” The scout laughed as Steve shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.

 

That would have been the end of it, had Steve not thrown up a hand, catching Christoph squarely in the chest.

 

”Ow. Whats that all about??”

 

The Chiss held up a a finger shushing his babbling sarcastic counterpart as he turned and led the duo towards Tilt and company. “I understand you are looking for Corporal Kran. The Corporal is with us in the building.”

 

”He is not in charge of evac though. We’re just here to help. You helping too, you . . . uh, who are you?” Christoph scratched his head.

 

”If you’re here to help, come with us.” Steve brushed aside the lance corporal’s queries in favor of getting back to work. If these boys, whoever they were, were looking for the corporal, they’d make sure they found him. If they meant some sort of funny business, they’d have the whole squad to contend with.

 

___________________

 

Inside the looming apartment building, lights flickered beneath the strained powergrid of Nar Shaddaa. Leaving the lift for families getting out, gunnery sergeant Benjamin Wood and corporal Rsgnar ‘Rags’ Kran lightly climbed the stairwell.

 

”Only seven more buildings on our list,” Rags sighed checking his HUD. “Think we might even make it in time for last call in the chow hall at this rate.” He smiled.

 

Benjamin just chuckled softly and shook his head. They had a lot of work between now and then.

  • Like 1

Trill_Scout_Squadron.jpg

Benjamin Wood

Ragnar Kran
Christoph Sokol

Krilst’eve’nuruodo

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

3 hours ago, Trill Scout Squadron said:

SECTOR 23: Mid-level Residential Division Containing Limited Retail, Highlighting Dine-In Facilities of the Mid-Rim

 

It was an organized bustle as Dartiss-5 Caraval hoovered, her landing ramp extended to the walkway. Even here a good mile off the surface, it felt just as homey as anywhere more closely earthbound. The only trick was staying away from the edge where ships could rise and ascend amongst the densely packed skyscrapers. Naval Officers, Stormtroopers, Corpsmen, and Soldiers, all manner of Imperial was on scene helping evacuate local residents, refugees, and assets. The line of those awaiting to evacuate was growing longer by the minute as evacuees arrived alone or escorted by Imperials. The line kept moving though. Each refugee was allowed a single bag. The definition of bag seemed rather loose.

 

The arrival of The Mantis elicited cheers as assumptions of another evacuation shuttle’s arrival was perceived. The disembarking clones were payed little attention. Any backup was appreciated. So when one of the Republic-era clad soldiers grabbed the shoulder of a passing Imperial Army trooper, the woman turned seeing the clones for the first time. She paused, mouth slightly agap as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. “Corporal who?” She asked harshly, as she moved to head back down the street towards the current complex they were evacuating, “Never ‘ears of’m. Try the Navy.” The trooper cradled her E-11 and hurried off after her team.

 

___________________
 

Moving towards the ever-growing line, private first class Krilst’eve’nuruodo and lance corporal Christoph Sokol helped the family into line. They deposited their bags and pulled giggling clawings children off their backs. Fishing a couple  pieces of chocolate from his pack, the Coruscanti Christoph handed them over to the kids with a smile. “Catch ya’ll on the flippity flip.” He gave them finger guns as he winked before turning around to join his much more serious Chiss counterpart. “Back to it then?”

 

The pair fell into step together heading back towards the nearest apartment building where Trill Scout Squadron was working alongside the others. 
 

“Get a load of those boys!” Christoph remarked none-too-quietly as he directed Steve’s attention to the nearby clone troopers they passed. “Betcha that is something the Gunny wore when he listed up.” The scout laughed as Steve shook his head, a smile playing at his lips.

 

That would have been the end of it, had Steve not thrown up a hand, catching Christoph squarely in the chest.

 

”Ow. Whats that all about??”

 

The Chiss held up a a finger shushing his babbling sarcastic counterpart as he turned and led the duo towards Tilt and company. “I understand you are looking for Corporal Kran. The Corporal is with us in the building.”

 

”He is not in charge of evac though. We’re just here to help. You helping too, you . . . uh, who are you?” Christoph scratched his head.

 

”If you’re here to help, come with us.” Steve brushed aside the lance corporal’s queries in favor of getting back to work. If these boys, whoever they were, were looking for the corporal, they’d make sure they found him. If they meant some sort of funny business, they’d have the whole squad to contend with.

 

___________________

 

Inside the looming apartment building, lights flickered beneath the strained powergrid of Nar Shaddaa. Leaving the lift for families getting out, gunnery sergeant Benjamin Wood and corporal Rsgnar ‘Rags’ Kran lightly climbed the stairwell.

 

”Only seven more buildings on our list,” Rags sighed checking his HUD. “Think we might even make it in time for last call in the chow hall at this rate.” He smiled.

 

Benjamin just chuckled softly and shook his head. They had a lot of work between now and then.

 

"Well sheesh! That's an answer alright!" Riggs states not too quietly, clearly frazzled by the female trooper and her attitude, "Ya know, Tilt, I think she was stunned by our-" 

 

"We look like clowns, Riggs," Tilt interjects with a sigh, looking forward and then around for the next individual, "Look, besides the paint job, all I care for is effectiveness of the armor. That workshop was grandiose I could gander." 

 

Riggs shuffles just slightly before catching up to Tilt, uncomfortable with the fact his commanding leader was saying such pessimistic things. He piped up, clapping his brother on the shoulder, "C'mon now, gotta look good while looking badass right? Mandalorians have this kinda getup, Clones are a rare sight and our armor is outdated... Well, by design, I can assume those droids knew what they were doing when repairing the equipment. After all, who cares about t looks?" 

 

“Get a load of those boys!” One scout trooper called out, quickly catching the attention of Riggs. Tilt stopped to see two other soldiers coming up, "Betcha that is something the Gunny wore when he listed up."

 

With a sigh of confirmation, Tilt knew allowing the droids to give the armor a color-up was a bad idea. At first it seemed rightful, the boys back in the day would have ate up the new style and the updated armor, however now... It was clear Tilt wanted to burn the equipment altogether, damned if he got shot while doing it! Just as he was about to say something, Riggs bumped his elbow into Tilts own and said, "Get a load of this pre-ejaculator! Probably hasn't hit puberty with that voice-" 

 

It was Tilt's turn to harshly smack Riggs in the back of his helmet, preventing the Clone from finishing his sentence, which got a response of, "Ow, tha hell?" 

 

"Right, that is exactly who we're gunning for. Got something from Kolchak we're supposed to deliver, and apparently we're supposed to aid you as well." Tilt replies to the Chiss trooper following the pair, while also ignoring the youngster. 

 

"Haven't seen an evac in years, hell, haven't been in a military it feels like forever!" Riggs quietly said to Tilt, while it wasn't quiet, he continued, "Can't believe we missed out on a lot, probably coulda helped a lot of Jedi and people back then, Captain." 

 

"Damn shame we were frozen. I feel like we've yet to even reminisce on that, the time lost between then and now, possibly for the best." Tilts quiet response was also not as quiet as well, while he was definitely brighter than Riggs, he did this on purpose to give the two troopers a sense that they were definitely not from around here. It also would allow the pair to ask real questions of who and what they were, where they came from, the typical conversational topics. He also knew that Riggs was always bothered by being in the wrong age at the wrong time, feeling he belonged in the time of the Republic rather than in a time of Empires, and deep down Tilt almost felt the same. There was no real way of talking about it to each other, so talking to strangers who's only heard the stories and read the history were ideal mediators and a proper audience for such an occasion. 

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The name of the operational commander, Nikolai Kolchak, was something at least. Falling into step with the clone trio. The scouts rushed down the roadway with the clones.

 

”Definitely a lot of Jedi and innocents to be helped here and now.” Christoph pointed out as he listened to the men. “You boys look like you came straight out of the training books. You clones? Lets see your faces.” He teased lightheartedly albeit with a hint of seriousness curious if the armor-wearers were actually clones of some sort, and if so, how old? Or were they pretenders like so many?

 

Steve remained quiet, only shooting a knowing exchange through his raised visor before tapping the Bad Company pauldron on Tilt.

 

”Bad Co eh? Think I’ve heard of them. Where’d you fellows serve?” Christoph smiled, his face and tone relaxed and relaxing. 
 

——————————————

 

“Door number three. You sure we haven’t hit this floor already?” Benjamin asked as the duo walked away from the third unanswered door on the topmost floor.

 

Glancing at their orders, Rags shook his head. “Nobody’s been here yet. This one is aalll ours.”

 

”Officially” Benjamin grumbled, tonally implying something else could be afoot.  Having served on intel assignments before, Trill Squadron knew things might not always be as they seemed.

 

The truth was the majority of the residents in this particular building had self-evacuated.

 

”Still gotta check them all though. Once The Kid and Chris show up let’s start booting doors. Don’t think chow hall is going to be an option. We’ll snag some ration bars on our next trip back to the dropships.” Benjamin explained. “Just don’t get shot.”

 

”Ya. Jobs a job isn’t it. Can’t shout down the hallway like that drunk di’kut in the last building what would people think? Maybe to get the kriff out! But we gotta be professional.” Rags made the air quotes sign with his free hand on the word professional although his frustration with the unforeseen complication was clear. If you were too stupid to get out, well, then too bad for you.

 

Keying up his comm with his tongue, Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood switched to their squad only channel, “Steve, Christoph, prepare for a late night. Got seven more buildings and we’re gonna have to start booting doors. Meet us top level and we’ll roll this thing out.”

 

——————————————

 

“Roger that.” Steve muttered into his mic as Christoph fell silent. Turning to the clones he explained, “We have to get to work. Boot doors, not shoot civilians, all that jazz.”

 

“”Set to stun.” Christoph whispered loudly as he leaned over to hiss happily at Riggs.

 

”Or don’t shoot anyone.” Steve responded, his voice serious to Christoph’s happy attitude. “Let’s go Sokol.”

 

Opening the door to the building, Christoph gestured for the clones to join them. “We’re gonna start on the top floor. You heroes wanna come help do some building clearing?” 

 

 

  • Like 1

Trill_Scout_Squadron.jpg

Benjamin Wood

Ragnar Kran
Christoph Sokol

Krilst’eve’nuruodo

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

20 hours ago, Trill Scout Squadron said:

The name of the operational commander, Nikolai Kolchak, was something at least. Falling into step with the clone trio. The scouts rushed down the roadway with the clones.

 

”Definitely a lot of Jedi and innocents to be helped here and now.” Christoph pointed out as he listened to the men. “You boys look like you came straight out of the training books. You clones? Lets see your faces.” He teased lightheartedly albeit with a hint of seriousness curious if the armor-wearers were actually clones of some sort, and if so, how old? Or were they pretenders like so many?

 

Steve remained quiet, only shooting a knowing exchange through his raised visor before tapping the Bad Company pauldron on Tilt.

 

”Bad Co eh? Think I’ve heard of them. Where’d you fellows serve?” Christoph smiled, his face and tone relaxed and relaxing. 
 

——————————————

 

“Door number three. You sure we haven’t hit this floor already?” Benjamin asked as the duo walked away from the third unanswered door on the topmost floor.

 

Glancing at their orders, Rags shook his head. “Nobody’s been here yet. This one is aalll ours.”

 

”Officially” Benjamin grumbled, tonally implying something else could be afoot.  Having served on intel assignments before, Trill Squadron knew things might not always be as they seemed.

 

The truth was the majority of the residents in this particular building had self-evacuated.

 

”Still gotta check them all though. Once The Kid and Chris show up let’s start booting doors. Don’t think chow hall is going to be an option. We’ll snag some ration bars on our next trip back to the dropships.” Benjamin explained. “Just don’t get shot.”

 

”Ya. Jobs a job isn’t it. Can’t shout down the hallway like that drunk di’kut in the last building what would people think? Maybe to get the kriff out! But we gotta be professional.” Rags made the air quotes sign with his free hand on the word professional although his frustration with the unforeseen complication was clear. If you were too stupid to get out, well, then too bad for you.

 

Keying up his comm with his tongue, Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood switched to their squad only channel, “Steve, Christoph, prepare for a late night. Got seven more buildings and we’re gonna have to start booting doors. Meet us top level and we’ll roll this thing out.”

 

——————————————

 

“Roger that.” Steve muttered into his mic as Christoph fell silent. Turning to the clones he explained, “We have to get to work. Boot doors, not shoot civilians, all that jazz.”

 

“”Set to stun.” Christoph whispered loudly as he leaned over to hiss happily at Riggs.

 

”Or don’t shoot anyone.” Steve responded, his voice serious to Christoph’s happy attitude. “Let’s go Sokol.”

 

Opening the door to the building, Christoph gestured for the clones to join them. “We’re gonna start on the top floor. You heroes wanna come help do some building clearing?” 

 

 

 

Riggs was about to raise his helmet until Tilt said in caution, "Don't." 

 

"C'mon! They're curious, I'm curious, we're all curious these days! Gotta show 'em the real deal, ya know?" Riggs argued in pure sarcasm as he removed his helm fully, revealing a very loving Clone face, heavily scarred from the days of the Clone Wars. He slid it back on with a cocky grin, only expecting the dramatics of life and never settle for the simple things. Tilt however kept a forward facing pace, not turning once to Riggs to rip him a new one because there wasn't really much he could do, more or less Tilt being a pessimist to brothers optimism. They were here on business. 

 

The tap on Tilts pauldron made the Clone actually pay attention to either the two idiots, more specifically the younger Christopher. He asked a question where he served, and... Well...

 

"Geonosis to start, both rounds if memory serves right. Muunilinst, Dac, Bomis Koori IV, Felucia, Saleucami, the list goes on. We didn't rest and filling in positions of fallen ranks of the battalion wasn't a common thing- recruiting was low, so we had to make due. We weren't meant for garrisons, post duties or stationing either, we were full assault and infiltration." Tilt went on in an unamused tone which he most likely shouldn't have, but he wasn't afraid to share a bit of information albeit he shared a tad too much. Oh well. 

 

Riggs only replied to Christopher's whisper when he loudly whispered, "Best part is when you blow their knees out, then you get to throw 'em about while they complain."

 

Once they've reached the building and entered it, Tilt nodded, "We can offer a little aid."

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The removal of one man’s helmet elicited a surprised smile from Christoph. “Well I’ll be. You don’t loom that old…” he chided Riggs happily. The duo of young officers nodded their heads as Tilt listed off a number of well-known exploits. Some were even used in training sims still. 
 

As they opened the door, Steve fell in behind Riggs. “This ain’t the Clone Wars buddy. We ain’t gutting droids. We’ve got rules of engagement and standards now.” He growled lowly.

 

———————————

 

Having booted two doors already, Benjamin and Rags, swarmed back into the hallway, EE-4 carbines clearing the corners and claiming real estate in front of them. They needed to be quick; but there was no sense to not get a bit of practice in too. Always paid to stay sharp. A Scout’s life depended on it.

 

So as they scurried out re-securing the  empty hallway, the door at the end opened. Immediately, Benjamin yanked the barrel of his rifle towards the ceiling. “Whoa. Rags looks like we got company,” he said at the sight of his fellow squad mates and their newfound associates.

 

Having secured his end of the hallway with ease, it was empty, Rags turned and walked towards the gunny; keeping his body pointed down the hall. “I’ll be Chris, what’d The Kid drag in today?” He asked eyeballing the new arrivals. “Sure do like the shine of them fancy antiques! Go real nice next to the cap’n battledroid bust.”

 

“Nah man. These’re clones. Been sipping from the fountain of youth I’d wager though. Says they were in Geonosis swatting flies BOTH times.”

 

”Well then.” Rags stopped, clearly surprised by his counterparts assessment.

 

Seizing the opportunity, Benjamin butted in. “Greetings gentlemen. Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood, Trill Scout Squadron. What can we do to be of service?” He reached up to raise the shield on his helmet revealing his sharp Corellian features.

 

”They are looking for the corporal,” Steve growled as he stood at the end of the hallway.

 

”Ah. You’ve come to the right place. Sokol take Kran’s position while he sees what we can help these fellows with.

 

A quick shuffle and Christoph Sokol was covering the opposite end of the hallway and Rags was sauntering over to the clones, rifle held aloft, leaning agaist his shoulder like some sort of action hero who just strode out of Jakku’s wastelands. “Corporal Rags Kran, What can I do ya for?” He left his visor down, his voice scrambled by the comm mic on his helmet.

  • Like 1

Trill_Scout_Squadron.jpg

Benjamin Wood

Ragnar Kran
Christoph Sokol

Krilst’eve’nuruodo

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Kirlocca looked her in the eyes. He could feel her emotions run wild, her thoughts a haze of different directions. He understood her for a moment, even with the chaos that raged within her. It made her feel more complex than what she let others in on. A smile slowly came to his face as she asked the question. And for a moment, he pondered his own thoughts on the matter. He had always been a Jedi first and foremost. Anything that could put him into a position of feeling any of the strong emotions had been pushed through and fought off so that he could have a clear mind as he operated. Ever since meeting Raven, such emotions were no longer pushed aside or worked through. Instead, they were welcomed to remain. But he had a long journey of letting go of fitting into the mold of what others expected- and within the Jedi Order itself, such expectations were always present. He had learned that lesson long ago. 

 

Now he stood and looked into Raven's eyes and wondered if he was in a position to fully let go and simply be himself as he was asking Raven do to. As he looked into her eyes, he knew deep down his answer. He pulled her into his body and gave her a strong embrace. 

 

<< Of course I would still love you. Nothing could change that. And you are more than what you've been doing. You have more than a title, a uniform and a career. You simply need to let those things become less important. >>

 

He closed his own eyes, soaking in the warmth of the embrace and allowing for his own Force energy to flood the room. To let his presence become fully accessible to her, allowing for her to feel his own thoughts, his own emotions much like he could read hers. He allowed for her to feel the truth within him, which was this. He believed in her, beyond whatever love may blind him to. He had served the galaxy for years, breaking the Jedi Code a few times in order to make the right call, getting exiled for his own beliefs more than once. He stood firm and remained fully Jedi as his resolve was ever strong that being a Jedi was the right thing to do. Now after all of those years, if she asked it, he would leave it all behind to be with her. 

Edited by Wookiee Jedi
  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

 Sandy smiled wryly at the old woman’s remark, but kept up her healing connection nonetheless as they made their way down the long ladder. There was no need to be secret with their force use anymore, since it appeared that all of their objectives had been secured. Aidan freed, and Misal’s hidden objective of espionage also equally secured. That one would be hard to answer for if she was questioned on it. The Imperial remnant had been fighting the Sith in the outer rim since before Sandy had become a Knight. And she, like many of the other of the knights in her generation, had cheered them on while the jedi council forbade them from pursuing the Sith. Something that had fatally stabbed the jedi in the back, by both the schism of the revanchists, then the same sith smashing a moon down on their heads. Sandy shook her head to push those thoughts out of her head. Regrets and second thoughts had plagued her for most of her teens and she would not let them come back. Those decisions had not been hers to regret. 

 

She held Misal upright and spared a glance to the bisected creature. Then with the sound of speeder bikes rushing towards them Sandy called upon the force. Not an illusion like those the Sith could conjur, but a cloak of the force fell upon the three of them. They would not be discovered unless one of the speeder bikers were an imperial knight. 

 

“Let’s keep our heads down eh?” Sandy grinned and passed the support of Misal to her grandson. Such use of the force took a lot of concentration.

  • Like 1

senay.png.2f049a5f093fee4ce31600cce37c9cbb.png

Calix Meus Inebrians

Link to comment
Share on other sites

On 2/1/2022 at 3:30 AM, Trill Scout Squadron said:

The removal of one man’s helmet elicited a surprised smile from Christoph. “Well I’ll be. You don’t loom that old…” he chided Riggs happily. The duo of young officers nodded their heads as Tilt listed off a number of well-known exploits. Some were even used in training sims still. 
 

As they opened the door, Steve fell in behind Riggs. “This ain’t the Clone Wars buddy. We ain’t gutting droids. We’ve got rules of engagement and standards now.” He growled lowly.

 

———————————

 

Having booted two doors already, Benjamin and Rags, swarmed back into the hallway, EE-4 carbines clearing the corners and claiming real estate in front of them. They needed to be quick; but there was no sense to not get a bit of practice in too. Always paid to stay sharp. A Scout’s life depended on it.

 

So as they scurried out re-securing the  empty hallway, the door at the end opened. Immediately, Benjamin yanked the barrel of his rifle towards the ceiling. “Whoa. Rags looks like we got company,” he said at the sight of his fellow squad mates and their newfound associates.

 

Having secured his end of the hallway with ease, it was empty, Rags turned and walked towards the gunny; keeping his body pointed down the hall. “I’ll be Chris, what’d The Kid drag in today?” He asked eyeballing the new arrivals. “Sure do like the shine of them fancy antiques! Go real nice next to the cap’n battledroid bust.”

 

“Nah man. These’re clones. Been sipping from the fountain of youth I’d wager though. Says they were in Geonosis swatting flies BOTH times.”

 

”Well then.” Rags stopped, clearly surprised by his counterparts assessment.

 

Seizing the opportunity, Benjamin butted in. “Greetings gentlemen. Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Wood, Trill Scout Squadron. What can we do to be of service?” He reached up to raise the shield on his helmet revealing his sharp Corellian features.

 

”They are looking for the corporal,” Steve growled as he stood at the end of the hallway.

 

”Ah. You’ve come to the right place. Sokol take Kran’s position while he sees what we can help these fellows with.

 

A quick shuffle and Christoph Sokol was covering the opposite end of the hallway and Rags was sauntering over to the clones, rifle held aloft, leaning agaist his shoulder like some sort of action hero who just strode out of Jakku’s wastelands. “Corporal Rags Kran, What can I do ya for?” He left his visor down, his voice scrambled by the comm mic on his helmet.

 

Stopping a short few feet, Tilt looked over to where the next set of Scout Troopers were coming to intercept their course. Then there was an individual who strode over holding his gun in an awkward position, Riggs looked the rest of the group taking everything in, however Tilt holstered his WESTAR-M5 Blaster Rifle and pulled the chip from a utility pouch. He handed the chip over to the Corporal and said, "CT-0207, Capt'n Tilt. The Admiral sent us with this," Tilt gestures to the chip in his hand, "Said we were to aid you fellas in any way possible." 

 

Riggs had slowly made his way over to one of the individuals, Chris, and was checking out his armor before interrupting, "Ey Tilt, this armor ain't lookin' so bad, maybe get rid of the white l add a lil' camo and it'd look sleeker than a Twi'leks pu-" 

 

"That'll be enough, Riggs." Tilt stopped the word of Riggs with a sight before the Clone could go into the detail of things. 

  • Haha 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Christoph chuckled gutterally, but before he could snap back, he was cut off by the Corporal, “Which Admiral would that be? So many of those brass-totin’ bozos around.”

 

The Gunnery Sergeant gave Rags a clip with his elbow and jerked his head towards the lift. “We’ll keep working with Captain Tilt and his team. Go see what that is and report back.”

 

Rags nodded, offering a half salute as he shoved the chip in a waist pouch and grasping his gun. He hurried towards the stairs and out of sight, muttering something about wishing he had a bike nearby.

 

”Now, lets say we split up,” Benjamin said turning to Captain Tilt. “Three of you. Three of us. We’re kicking doors on any door that doesn’t get an answer, gotta evac anyone we find, unless they really don’t want to go. Would rather get vaporized.”

 

“Dibs on the funny clone Gunny!” Christoph was quick to pipe up jerking a thumb at Riggs. “We’ll take the next floor down. Beat the Kid to the end too! C’mon” he jerked his head towards the opposite stairway looking at Riggs.

 

Benjmain didnt say much, he just waves the duo off; his only sign of approval. As they disappeared he shook his head. “Captain, shall we finish this floor?” He asked Tilt.

 

”That leaves us,” Steve turned to Thumper. “Floor Five. Don’t worry about Christoph. He is a cowboy.”

 

__________________________________


BENJAMIN & TILT:

 

As the other two duos of soldiers made their way downstairs, Benjamin turned to Tilt, gesturing to a door. “We best get rolling. Christoph and Steve are pretty fast. They enjoy racing, byproduct of the Corps I suppose.”

 

”Huh.” Benjamin pointed to the door of the next apartment. It was cracked open.

 

Beating loudly on the door, Benjamin announced themselves, “Imperial Troops!! If you’re inside come to the door!”

 

”Imperial troops!”

 

Imperial troops! Come to the door!”

 

With no answer, Benjamin nodded to Tilt. “Follow me.”

 

Clasping his weapon, Benjamin shoved the door open and rolled into the room. The barrel of his rifle slicing the pie as he went left, trusting Tilt to go right. The apartment was a disaster. It looked like whoever lived here was unable of throwing out anything. Mixed amongst the smells of trash and rotted food another, fleshly rotting smell seemed to waft from a closed doorway on Tilt’s side of the main room. 
 

Benjamin nodded knowingly to Tilt, ready to follow his lead into the room.

 

It smelled like death.

 

__________________________________

 

RIGGS & RAGS:

 

The sixth floor, one flight down. It took but a minute to get to it. The hallway was empty. Somewhere down the way a holoscreen blared a local Rebel news program. It was audible in the hallway.

 

”Damn it all, some old crone watching the dailies is gonna slow us down buddy.” He remarked cheerfully, if not slightly perturbed at the fact that someone might actually be home in the seemingly empty building. “What say you take those on the left. I’ll take these on the right. Divide and conquer? They teach you clones how to work independently? I ask cause I seen them videos. Thousands of ya’ll eating, training, showering together. Didn’t seem like ya got a lot of privacy.” Even through his helmet, Rags could be heard smiling as he poked the clone. He was looking forward to this. He was sure they’d win.

 

__________________________________

 

KRILST’EVE’NURUODO & THUMPER:
 

Steve led Thumper down the stairwell towards the sixth floor. “How you clones handle building clearing? We are supposed to knock. No answer, we go in. Set to stun. No accidents.”

 

  • Like 1

Trill_Scout_Squadron.jpg

Benjamin Wood

Ragnar Kran
Christoph Sokol

Krilst’eve’nuruodo

 

Link to comment
Share on other sites

×
×
  • Create New...